The Wolven Brood
by Copper Vixen
Summary: An act of kindness changes Harry's circumstances, leaving him shunned by those he once considered friends. Now, when the most unlikely group offers him friendship, he must choose between continued solitude or hands that may be hiding knives Slash DMHP
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter One - The Fateful Day

It all began one cold December day in Scotland. It was a Saturday, to be exact. And the beginning of a Hogsmeade weekend for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For most, the two days would be completely uneventful. Nothing beyond the usual would occur. They would visit the same shops they always did, spend their allowances on the same inane things they normally did, and then they would return to the castle toting bags of goodies but otherwise penniless.

However, for Harry Potter, that Saturday would be a day he remembered for the rest of his life . . .

XxXxX

Snow swept across the hardened ground and hammered against the cloaked forms trekking toward Hogsmeade. The wind shrieked angrily between the naked trees, tugging at colourful scarves and tangling heavy robes about numb legs. Patches of ice hidden beneath the snow made the path treacherous, but still the students of Hogwarts continued on, undeterred by the elements that seemed wholly riveted on keeping them from their destination.

Fingers buried in the folds of his heaviest winter cloak, Harry Potter shivered and lengthened his stride. His change of pace immediately incited cries from the two people trailing him, making him smile and look over his shoulder. "We're almost there." He called with a laugh, burying his hands deeper into the voluminous cloth of the dark cloak.

Lifting her chin from the protective warmth of her red and gold scarf, Hermione Granger shot the raven-haired wizard a baleful glare. "I could be back at Hogwarts curled up with a book right now," she grumbled, hooking her arm through Ron's and pressing closer to him. "Next to the fireplace in the Common Room. In my warmest pajamas. With a mug of hot cocoa." Teeth nearly chattering, she focused her gaze on the village visible in the distance. Smoke curled from the chimneys in a tantalizing portrayal of the warmth waiting within the small shops, the sight making her shudder in relief.

Lightly laughing at the witch's response, Harry spun around and began to walk backwards. "Are you telling me you've already finished your shopping?" He asked, grinning as Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head. The wicked wind sent his cloak billowing out before him and flipped his hood over his head, the fabric momentarily blinding him.

"Of course," Hermione answered primly. She sniffed delicately at the scoffing noises the pair made, swatting Ron's arm gently even as a small smile curved her lips. "The two of you shouldn't leave everything to the last-"

"Harry!" Ron yelped suddenly, a finger jabbing at the ground directly behind the other wizard. He winced as the raven-haired male caught the heel of his boot on a chunk of ice pushing through the snow and stumbled, his arms swinging frantically in a vain attempt to recover his balance.

Unable to regain his equilibrium, Harry toppled backwards. The air left his lungs in a loud whoosh as he slammed into the ground, the back of his head connecting with the well-packed snow. Groaning, he lay sprawled on the ground staring up at the gray sky, blinking at the white and black stars dancing across the expanse. "Thanks, Ron," he finally managed to wheeze, his vision clearing enough for him to see Hermione and Ron peering down at him in apparent concern. Cringing at the pain that radiated from the bump growing on the back of his head, he accepted the redhead's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"You should really be more careful," Hermione muttered, probing the back of his head roughly. With a small wag of her head, she turned the dark-haired wizard in the direction of Hogsmeade and gave him a light push. "You have a good sized bump," she added, shooing Ron ahead of her with her free hand.

Biting his lip, Harry lifted a hand to touch the growing welt, jumping slightly when Hermione slapped his searching fingers away. "Your concern for my well being brings tears to my eyes," he mumbled dryly, hobbling due to the ache spreading over his bruised rump. Gritting his teeth, he slipped his hands into his pockets and shouldered the bushy-haired witch's helpful hand away, fighting down the urge to rub his bum soothingly. Instead, he drew a deep breath and focused his orbs on the much-appreciated sight of Hogsmeade, a happy smile sliding across his face as he peered down the bustling street that curved through the small village.

He absolutely adored the Holidays. Not because of the gifts or the time off from classes, but because of the atmosphere the entire season imbued. Everyone was happy; for the entire month of December everybody seemed to forget their worries and cares and focus on their friends and families. Which was exactly what Harry planned on doing. He was going to spend every minute he could with Remus and the entire Weasley clan at Grimmauld Place; Hermione was scheduled to join them the day after Christmas, which meant he and Ron could put off doing their holiday schoolwork until she arrived.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks and get warm before we split up to do our shopping," Hermione suggested, giving Harry one last light push. She slipped her hands into her pockets as they joined the harried crowd rushing down the main path, nodding politely to several fifth year Gryffindors.

"I could use a Butterbeer," Ron mused, elbowing Harry to get his attention. He arched his eyebrows when the raven-haired wizard jumped and turned to look at them with wide eyes. "Three Broomsticks. Butterbeer. Unthaw," he said, shaking his head in bemusement when understanding flickered across Harry's face.

"Sure," Harry replied with an apologetic wag of his head. He gestured the pair ahead of him, scanning the busy street for familiar faces. A passing wizard bumped into him, elbowing him aside roughly and hurrying down the path. Teeth clenched at the wizard's rudeness, he turned his head and watched him through narrowed eyes, frowning as the tall male left a trail of disgruntled shoppers in his wake. His lack of focus caused him to walk into Ron and almost tip over backwards, only the redhead's quick hands keeping him from once again landing on his backside.

"You're really out of it today," Ron said, steadying the dark-haired wizard with a hand on his shoulder.

With a shrug, Harry said, "Christmas." He ignored the furrowing of the redhead's brow, stepping quickly past him into the Three Broomsticks and scanning the crowded tables. A wide grin crossed his face when he saw Dean, Neville, and Seamus at a nearby booth, the three Gryffindor sixth year's in deep discussion.

Laughing softly as Neville noticed him and gave an excited wave, he lifted a hand in greeting and directed Ron and Hermione toward the trio. They would most likely be here a while, he thought wryly, watching as the pair join the small group. With an inaudible sigh, he wove his way through the crowd and ordered three Butterbeers from the bartender, glancing around the busy room as he waited. The place was packed with students and villagers, some he recognized and others he didn't. As his gaze slid across the farthest shadowy corner he stiffened, his body tensing as he found himself being regarded by two tall wizards. His mouth went dry as he stared into a pair of crystalline eyes, the hair on the back of his neck rising. The tall stranger blinked and turned his pale orbs back to his companion, ending the unintentional staring match and leaving Harry suddenly afraid.

With a sharp shake of his head, Harry slapped several coins on the bar and gathered up the three Butterbeers, quickly heading toward the booth of Gryffindors. Placing the drinks carefully on the table, he shot one last unobtrusive glance at the two strange wizards, goosebumps racing up his arms as he once again found himself being watched by the taller of the pair. He jerked his head back around, meeting Hermione's worried orbs with arched brows and a small smile. Squeezing onto the bench next to Ron, he wrapped his fingers around his bottle and attempted to appear interested in the current debate over Ravenclaw's chances of beating Slytherin in the next Quidditch match.

XxXxX

Standing alone in front of Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop clutching bags from various stores, Harry tried to ignore the eerie feeling that he was being watched. Still, without being too obvious about it, he scanned the crowd streaming past him, glad the harsh winds had died down and the sun had slid from behind the clouds. He relaxed when he found himself being ignored for the most part; only the odd passerby casting him a curious look as they went about their business. Shuffling his feet in the snow, he searched for Hermione and Ron, wondering how much longer they'd be then smiling at past memories of shopping with the pair.

A low cry of pain drew him from his thoughts, turning his blank gaze from the shop window to the steady flow of witches and wizards hustling down the street. Frowning, he tipped his head, looking for the individual who had cried out among the crowd. His hands tightened around the handles of the bags he carried as he drifted down the path, his head snapping around as a child's voice rose up in a pained plea for attention. Worrying his bottom lip, he halted at the base of a narrow alley that ran between two shops, his brow drawing down as he surveyed the heavy shadows.

"Hello?" He called softly, ignoring the raised eyebrows and appraising looks several passing witches cast at him. Shifting his bags around, he pulled his wand from his pocket and glanced over his shoulder before taking a cautious step into the alley. His second step was just as slow as the first, his feet feeling almost leaden as he moved deeper into the shadows. A pained whimper had him gliding forward, ignoring his body's silent warning to turn around and run. "Is anyone there?"

"Who are you?" A frightened voice demanded, drawing his gaze to where a small form huddled in the snow. Muscles tensing in preparation for an attack, Harry murmured lumos, and felt his eyes widen in shock at what the soft glow revealed.

"I want my mummy!" Sobbed the small boy, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees as he glared at Harry through shimmering hazel orbs. Sniffling loudly, he swiped at his nose with one gloved hand, watching the older wizard approach nervously. His bottom lip quivered noticeably and his cheeks were streaked with tears.

Smiling encouragingly, Harry slowly dropped to his knees next to the little boy. "I'm Harry Potter," he said softly, offering the child his hand in greeting. He watched quietly as his hand was stared at distrustfully, wiggling his toes in his boots as a chill began to seep through his heavy woolen socks.

Hazel eyes widening, the little boy blinked and offered the older wizard a tentative smile. "Harry Potter?" He repeated in amazement, reaching out and grasping the dark-haired male's proffered hand.

Harry laughed and gently shook the small gloved hand. "The one and only," he said in amusement, emerald orbs twinkling. Letting go of the boy's hand, he sat back on his heels and looked around for some clue as why the child was sitting alone in the dark alley. "Did you get separated from your parents?" He asked, rising to his feet and brushing the snow off the knees of his pants, sparing one second to wince as the bruise on his bottom twinged.

"Maybe," the boy mumbled, climbing to his feet and staring down at the toes of his boots. His bottom lip began to tremble again and he scuffed unhappily at the snow.

"Well," Harry said, grinning at the little wizard's reply, "Perhaps I can help you find them." Offering the child a look of understanding, he bent over slightly and swiped at the snow clinging to the back of the toddler's robes. "What's your mum's name?" He asked as he straightened.

Snuffling, the boy peered up at Harry through his dark lashes. "Mummy stayed home today," he said in a whisper.

Harry rolled his eyes and gathered his bags into his left hand. Sliding his wand away, he held his right hand out and wiggled his fingers as he waited for them to be taken. "Okay, what's your father's name?" He queried, attempting to slowly lead the boy back toward the main path.

"My dad's name is Fenrir," the little boy announced, reaching out and grasping Harry's fingers. A strange gleam appeared in his reddish-brown orbs and he swiped his tongue over his lips, smiling at Harry's soft gasp of disbelief.

Emerald orbs widening as he stared down at the little boy, Harry felt a shiver run up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Swallowing audibly, he glanced at the small hand that had locked around three of his fingers, feeling their grip tighten as he tried to pull gently away. "Pardon?" He whispered, creeping back a step and halting when he found the child's grip unbreakable.

No longer appearing the least bit afraid, the young boy smiled and repeated, "Fenrir."

Before Harry had a chance to realize what was happening, the boy struck. The movement was as quick as the strike of a snake, dainty fangs sinking into the fleshy part of his thumb while he watched on in stunned silence. At the burst of pain, he gasped and tore his hand away, cradling the bleeding appendage to his chest. He stared down in disbelief, eyes widening as small droplets of blood rose to pool in the little holes carved into the side of his thumb.

The small boy looked up at Harry and smiled sweetly, flashing sharp incisors that would have been more at home in the mouth of a fox. Hazel orbs sparkling, he began to back away from the gaping wizard. "Father sends his regards and says he'll be seeing you soon," he breathed ominously, his lips curling as he gave a childish giggle. With a wiggle of his fingers, he darted past Harry and vanished down the path, disappearing among the villagers and students.

Unable to exactly comprehend what had just occurred, Harry staggered after the boy, stumbling out of the alley and into the middle of the street. He searched almost frantically for some sight of the child, stiffening when he saw the pair of wizards from the Three Broomsticks heading down the road away from him. Walking between them, and chattering merrily as he clutched their hands, was the hazel-eyed terror. Mouth hanging open, Harry stiffened as the shorter of the two glanced back at him and smiled maliciously, dipping his chin briefly in recognition.

"Harry! Where have you been? Ron and I have been looking everywhere for you." Hermione hissed unhappily as she appeared at his elbow. She huffed as he turned wide eyes in her direction, giving a toss of her head to further indicate her current state of displeasure. "You said you'd meet us in front of Zonko's at one o'clock, remember?"

Blinking dazedly at the witch, Harry bobbed his head slowly; his gaze unconsciously drifting back down the path the strange trio had taken. "I got distracted," he mumbled in lieu of an apology. His eyes dropped absently to the hand he'd tucked protectively against his chest, his brow furrowing as he noted that the shallow puncture marks had stopped bleeding. Fingers curling, he lifted his chin and found himself peering into Hermione's narrowed eyes.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione demanded, inching closer and grabbing his wrist gently. She frowned at his pained cringe, her gaze falling to the hand he had tucked tightly against his chest. With a light touch, she tugged his arm away from his body, her orbs widening at the blood staining his pale skin. "What happened?" She exclaimed, pressing her thumb firmly into the center of his palm so he couldn't close his hand.

Futilely attempting to pull away from the bushy-haired witch, Harry stiffened, his mind quickly assembling and discarding several credible lies. Finally, after several long seconds, he decided to go with the truth - albeit the very carefully edited version. "I got bit," he mumbled, allowing his face to redden in embarrassment. His orbs flicked up to the witch's face, triumph surging through him at the look of disbelief that crossed her features before vanishing behind a mask of surprised concern.

"You should know better than to pet strange dogs, Harry." Hermione chided, examining the neat teeth marks with a practiced eye. She released his hand after assuring herself that the injury was minor, giving a small shake of her head as she stared at raven-haired wizard's red face. "Make sure you show that to Madame Pomfrey when we get back to the castle. It could easily become infected." After issuing her opinion in the form of friendly advice, she grabbed hold of his sleeve and began to tow him in the general direction of Zonko's, scanning the crowd for Ron.

"I will," Harry said, glancing around before jamming his bloody hand into his pocket. It was a lie, of course. He had no intention of showing anyone that bite mark, especially not someone who might recognize it for what it was. Because what it was was a life sentence. There was no cure, either muggle or magical, for the disease he'd just been given. For what he was about to become. And what Harry now was . . . was fucked. Completely, and utterly, fucked.

"Fucked with a capital F," he mumbled beneath his breath, stumbling along behind Hermione. Giving a small shake of his head, he turned his attention to keeping up with the witch, knowing that there would be plenty of time to contemplate this latest little quandary in the days to come.

XxXxX

Unfortunately, reality came crashing home sooner than Harry had originally anticipated.

It was the night before the day they were to depart for the Christmas Holidays, and like the previous five nights, Harry woke in the early morning panting and scrabbling at his sheets. Mouth dry and heart pounding, he sat up in his four-poster clutching his blankets, a cold sweat clinging to his shaking body. His fingers tightened on the warm flannel as he gazed about the circular dorm room in growing dread. He could see. Perfectly. And in the dark to boot.

With a soft moan of despair, he flopped back down onto his mattress, releasing the sheets and tangling his fingers in his hair. He was doomed. Remus was going to kill him, slowly. Heaving a deep sigh, he rolled over onto his stomach and rested his chin on his forearm, his eyes immediately seeking out the marks on the side of his right hand. However, after a mere six days, the bite wound was gone. In fact, every minor injury he'd received during the last week had healed unnaturally fast.

At any other time, enhanced sight and super speedy healing would be viewed as a definite benefit. Unfortunately, this particular package included a three night all memories lost romp through the wilds of Scotland on four legs - for every full moon for the rest of his life. Because at this point in time, Harry figured it was safe to admit the worst.

He, Harry James Potter, was now, and forever, a Werewolf. And in this particular club, membership was permanent.

With a frustrated groan, he rolled over onto his back and glared at the canopy of his bed, lifting his hands to tug uselessly at his shaggy hair. Now that he was one hundred per cent positive he'd been given the W virus, or was at least ready to admit it, he had to decide whether or not he should tell Ron and Hermione. Generally, he wouldn't have given the matter a second thought; he would have gone ahead and told the pair right away. However, there was a part of him that wanted to keep this little secret to himself. He deserved to have at least one, after all.

Since he'd been introduced to the wizarding world, his life had become fodder for the masses. Every move he made was critiqued. Each achievement and failure broadcast to the public. Merlin, his life was about as private as a phone booth on the corner of a busy street.

Giving up on attempting to sleep, Harry slid from his bed and slipped silently across the room. He left the dorm and drifted down to the Common Room, his feet carrying him to the extra large sofa resting before the fireplace. Swatting an oversized pillow out of his way, he flopped down and stretched his arms across the top of the scarlet couch, absently crossing his ankles as he stared at the embers glowing in the hearth. His change of location did nothing to deter his brain from working the twisted puzzle. Almost immediately, his thoughts returned to the problem at hand: to tell Hermione and Ron or not to tell Hermione and Ron?

He could already imagine the reactions of the pair, and neither one would be good. Ron would react like he always did. He'd throw a tantrum and act as if Harry had deliberately gone and shoved his arm into the jaws of a werewolf. Typical redhead behaviour, Harry mused, sinking deeper into the cushions at the mere thought of having to deal with Ron's jealousy issues, again. Hermione, on the other hand, would be as cool headed as always. She'd make a list of pros and cons and then give him her opinion on the entire matter. She would also be extremely disappointed in his failure to inform Dumbledore directly after the incident had occurred. And three weeks later everything would be back to normal, mostly.

Yet there was one little flaw in his master plan that he wasn't ready to acknowledge. One tiny tiny problem. That problem was the fact that he'd be forced to change on the next full moon. How exactly did one explain the sudden acquirement of fur and fangs to their friends? Hell, he'd run out of bandages pretending that the bite mark on his hand still existed. Now, with his suddenly improved eyesight, keeping this little matter a secret seemed an impossibility.

Beneath all the worries of telling his friends he'd been bitten by a werewolf was another, much larger concern. And that was that werewolves weren't allowed at Hogwarts, reminding him that he had nowhere else to go. It was that thought that frightened him the most. Hogwarts was the only home he'd ever really known. Without it, he'd be lost.

Giving a shudder at the thought, he rose fluidly and slunk up the stairs. There was nothing he could do now. He would just have to sit back and hope for the best, but he would prepare for the worst. Because he was Harry Potter, and nothing was ever easy for him.

XxXxX

An excited yelp had Harry rising from a restless sleep, his eyes flying open as he sat up quickly and searched the chamber for the source of the disturbance. The sight of Seamus bouncing up and down on Dean's bed while merrily swatting the other wizard with a pillow had him groaning softly and flopping backwards amidst his blankets. He settled an arm across his eyes and clenched his teeth as Dean let out a war whoop, the sound nearly causing him to reach for his wand. The whistle of displaced air had him extending an arm, his fingers closing and locking in the fabric of Neville's pillowcase. With little effort, he tore the pillow away from the other wizard's lax grip, tossing it in the general direction of Seamus and Dean.

"Get up, Harry!" Seamus yelled playfully, leaping from Dean's bed to the dark-haired Gryffindor's. He only got in one quick bounce before his legs were swept out from beneath him, the sheer speed of the movement startling him into releasing a piercing shriek. His girlish cry was cut short when he dropped down next to Harry, the other wizard's hand slapping across his open mouth.

Slitting one eye, Harry glared at Dean in warning before carefully removing his hand. "I am up," he stated quietly. His seemingly bad mood brought an end to the fun and laughter, the rest of the group falling silent and shooting nervous glances at each other.

"Right," Seamus mumbled finally, rolling off Harry's bed and to his feet. He ruffled his hair as he backed away from the other wizard, avoiding the narrowed emeralds following his every move. "Well, ah, I'm going to get ready for breakfast." After announcing his intentions to the entire room, he shot off in the direction of the bathroom like a hex from a wand, slowing only to grab the clothes draped across his trunk. Dean and Neville were hot on his heels.

Sighing, Harry rolled over and buried his head under his pillow. He really hadn't meant to snap at Seamus. Then again, he'd only managed to get a couple hours of sleep and was fully entitled to being grumpy after receiving such a rude awakening. A light thump had him pulling his pillow aside and slitting one eye, glaring at the redhead standing showered and dressed beside his bed.

"Rough night?" Ron asked, amusement clear in his tone. The grin he wore grew as Harry snarled softly, the sound drawing a chuckle from him. With a shake of his head, he turned away from the dark-haired wizard and moved toward his packed trunk, placing his bathroom kit and pajamas atop the abused wood. "You'd better get up before Hermione comes up here and rolls your lazy arse out of bed. Merlin forbid we not be the first ones aboard the Hogwarts Express."

Groaning, Harry sat up and rubbed his face tiredly. "Time?" He croaked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and tentatively searching the cold floor for his slippers. Barely restraining another groan, he rose unsteadily and snagged the clothes lying across the end of his bed, beginning a slow walk in the direction of the adjoining bathroom. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth when the bathroom door flew open before him, spilling steam, Seamus, Dean, and Neville into the circular dorm room.

"A little after eight. If you shower quickly you'll have time for breakfast," the redhead called across the chamber. He hunched his shoulders when the bathroom door slammed closed behind the other wizard, the loud thud actually rattling the thin glass within the windowpanes. "Definitely not a morning person," he grumbled, hefting his trunk and exiting the room in the wake of Seamus and Dean.

Anxiously pacing the Common Room, Hermione shot an annoyed look at the clock hanging above the hearth, her frown growing. Raucous laughter turned her head toward the stairwell, a sigh of relief slipping over her lips at the sight of Ron descending the stairs, packed trunk in arms. "I've been waiting for twenty minutes," she informed the redhead, glancing over his shoulder in search of Harry. When she realized the dark-haired wizard was nowhere to be seen, she huffed in exasperation and marched toward the stairs, fully set on retrieving him. Her forward advance was halted when Ron shifted to block her path, shaking his head in warning.

"He'll be down in just a minute," he said loudly. After a quick scan of the room, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "The last few nights have been kinda rough." The implication was clear enough to widen Hermione's eyes.

With the slightest dip of her chin, Hermione forced a smile to her lips. "I swear the pair of you would sleep all day if you could," she said loudly, rolling her eyes as she whirled around and stalked to the nearest couch. Perching herself gracefully on the edge of a scarlet cushion, she focused her eyes on the stairwell, her fingers beginning a rhythmic tap on the arm of the sofa.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Harry appeared on the stairs. Hermione watched him descend slowly, his trunk rattling down the stairs behind him, each jarring thud echoed by the barely perceptible tightening of his lips Dark circles were visible beneath his weary eyes. Eyes that were unshielded by the glasses he should have been wearing. Fluidly rising, the witch stalked to the bottom of the stairwell and halted, her eyes locked on the raven-haired wizard. "Where are your glasses?" She asked, folding her arms at her waist.

Harry continued his descent, not deeming to answer the question. He circled around the witch when he reached the base of the stairs, making a beeline for the back of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Do we have time for breakfast?" As he'd known it would, the question distracted Hermione completely.

Brow drawing down, Hermione glanced at Ron and sighed at the eager smile he wore. "Yes, we have time for breakfast," she muttered, flicking her eyes toward the ceiling in annoyance. That small moment of hesitation gave the wizard enough time to escape the Common Room, forcing her and Ron to chase after him.

By the time the pair arrived in the Great Hall, Harry was already seated at the Gryffindor table with a plate of food before him and mouth full of food.

"You could have waited for us," scolded Hermione, flopping onto the bench across from the raven-haired male and frowning at his lack of manners.

Emerald orbs lifting, Harry arched a single brow and licked the tines of his fork clean. "I could have," he agreed quietly, reaching for his apple juice. He took a long swig, his eyes sweeping the Great Hall over the rim of the glass. He paused in mid sip when he found himself being watched closely by Draco Malfoy, the blond's gaze seeming almost predatory.

The Slytherin had had a growth spurt over the summer break, his current height placing him amongst the tallest in their year. Somehow, he had retained both his lithe frame and catlike grace, though Harry was certain he'd also packed on a fair amount of muscle. Fingers tightening on his cup, the dark-haired wizard leaned forward slightly, his body tensing in preparation. For what seemed like minutes, the pair remained focused completely on each other, their gazes locked and their bodies held as if ready to spring. It was Hermione's voice that broke the staring match, turning his head just in time to watch Ron's fork sink into the last sausage on his plate. Like lightning, his fork sank into the meat, pinning it to the plate as a warning growl trembled upon his lips.

"I asked twice," Ron mumbled sullenly, withdrawing the gold utensil.

Realizing what he'd just done, Harry released the fork and shoved the plate toward Ron. "You can have it," he said, rising jerkily to his feet. He grabbed his glass of juice and downed the remnants before reaching for his small carry on bag, his trunk having been deposited in the main foyer with the rest of the student's luggage. "I'm going to go and get us a good compartment on the Hogwart's Express." Not giving the pair a chance to answer, he fled the hall, daring only a quick glance over his left shoulder. That look was enough to confirm Malfoy was still watching him intently, those pale silver orbs narrowed in thought. Teeth grit, Harry stormed away from the Great Hall and joined a pack of Ravenclaws climbing into a waiting sleigh. Managing a polite nod, he curled up in a corner and prayed he'd be able to get a minute of peace when he boarded the train.

XxXxX

"_My older brother's bringing one of his school chums home-"_

"_Anything from the trolley?"_

"_Snap!"_

"_Did you see Malfoy's hair?"_

"_I got my sister the most ador-"_

"_Boot's a dickless bastard!"_

"_Can you believe how much homework-"_

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Hermione. Inhaling deeply, Harry lowered his chin and opened his eyes, meeting the witch's curious gaze with glazed emeralds. "Just a headache," he answered quietly. He forced an apologetic smile to his dry lips, fighting down the nausea that threatened to spill his breakfast across the toes of their boots. His hands balled into fists, his nails biting into the skin of his palms. Why did everyone have to be so loud? Couldn't they all just sit quietly and enjoy the scenery flashing past the wide windows of the Hogwarts Express?

He let out a pained gasp as the third year witch in the compartment next to theirs shrieked gleefully, the sound bringing his hands to his ears. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the stabbing pain to fade before drawing a deep breath. Bile began to build threateningly at the back of his throat.

Quite against his will, he was privy to every whispered word, every hushed conversation. Each bout of explosive laughter made his eardrums ring and his eyes water. Compartment doors opened and closed throughout the car, each squeak and slam feeling like a direct kick to his balls. The constant clatter of metal against metal caused his head to twinge dangerously. And amongst all those piercing sounds was the everyday run of the mill chatter; the gossip and excited talk about Christmas presents and visiting family.

A particularly piercing screech had him clapping a hand over his mouth and rocketing to his feet: he was going to be sick. Ignoring Hermione's anxious demands, he fumbled at the compartment's door, his fingers scrabbling almost uselessly at the latch. Finally, after several precious seconds, the door slid open and he staggered into the narrow corridor. With a hand still clamped over his mouth and his gut churning, he staggered toward the closest loo, bursting through the door and slamming it closed recklessly behind him. He made it into the first of the two stalls just as he lost the battle to keep his breakfast.

Head hanging over the porcelain bowl, he threw up repeatedly until he had nothing left to lose. With his forearms resting on the rim, he hung his head and spat lingering bile into the murky water. Heaving a soft sigh, he rested his forehead against the cool porcelain, enjoying the peace that filled the small room. At last he was alone, and seemingly beyond the reach of the dozens of voices that constantly rose and fell throughout the car. His brow furrowed at a light scratching upon the door, his sensitive nose picking up the smell of Hermione's favoured perfume before she whispered his name loudly.

"Harry? Are you alright?" The witch hissed, pushing the door open slightly and attempting to peer into the small bathroom.

Harry sighed and shook his head, internally wondering when exactly he'd lost all rights to privacy. "I'm fine, Hermione," he called hoarsely, swiping the sleeve of his sweater across his mouth. He dropped his head back against the divider between the stalls and closed his eyes, listening to the witch fidget outside the door. Frankly, he was surprised she hadn't just burst into the room demanding to know what was going on. Clasping his hands around his bent knees, he bumped his head lightly against the barrier between the stalls, attempting to calm the rolling of his stomach. Another light knock preceded Hermione's worried voice, the sound causing him to grit his teeth in annoyance. "What?" He snapped, his fingers tightening around his knees until his knuckles whitened.

"Is there anything I can do?" Hermione called, sounding slightly offended as she shoved the door open a little further. She leaned into the loo and glanced around suspiciously before allowing her gaze to rest on Harry's form huddled behind the closed door of the first stall.

Rolling his eyes, Harry released his right knee and scrubbed his fingers across his forehead, his mind searching for some task that would take Hermione elsewhere and keep her occupied for a decent length of time. After a moment's hesitation, and the resumption of the pounding behind his temples, he came up with the perfect mission. "Can you see if someone has a pain potion for this headache? I think that would really help." He grinned at the witch's harried 'yes', once again closing his eyes as the door snicked shut and Hermione took off in search of the requested potion.

His much-enjoyed peace lasted no longer than five minutes. With a taunting squeak, the door swung open, the sound drawing an inaudible groan from him. He should have known Hermione wouldn't take that long. Opening his eyes, he dropped his hands to the floor and began to lever himself upward, stiffening when the lock on the main door snicked into place. "Hermione?" He called, his ears picking up the stealthy tread of boots gliding across the floor. His muscles tensed as the sink spluttered on, the sound of splashing water concealing the movements of the individual moving about outside the stall door. Trepidation growing, he slowly slid the lock of the stall door aside and raised his eyes to the narrow mirror hanging over the sink as he pulled the door open.

"Traveling first class, Potty?" Draco Malfoy purred, meeting Harry's wide emeralds in the mirror. He couldn't help but chuckle evilly as the raven-haired wizard gaped at him in surprise. Still holding the Gryffindor's gaze, he negligently turned the running water off and grabbed one of the towels folded neatly beside the sink, shifting so he faced Potter as he began to carefully dry his damp hands.

Mouth snapping closed, Harry glared at the Slytherin. He stepped out of the stall slowly and cast a quick glance around the small room, finding himself uncharacteristically worried over the possibility of being cornered. "Shouldn't you be in the luggage car with the rest of the baggage, Malfoy?" He responded snidely, his emerald orbs returning to the other wizard in time to see anger flood across the blond's aristocratic features.

"Feeling a tad bit cranky, are we?" Draco snapped cooly, tossing the balled up towel in the general direction of the waste basket. He straightened in a hiss of expensive black silk, staring down at the dark-haired wizard from his superior height. "Does the Weasel know he's being cuckolded?"

Harry was almost thrown by the seemingly innocent insult, but the gleam in the blond's pale eyes gave him away. "Hermione's my friend," he snarled, frightened by the intense urge he had to start growling like a rabid dog. Swallowing heavily, he took a shuffling step toward the door, deciding that in his current condition fighting either magically or physically with Malfoy should be avoided at all costs. His cautious retreat was halted by the Slytherin's next drawled comment.

"Yes, I believe that's referred to as a 'friend-with-benefits'," Draco murmured softly, "Still, I suppose the Weasel must be quite proud to have the honour of sharing his girlfriend with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Why, he must be incredibly proud to be able to enjoy the pleasure of your leftovers-"

Harry had no memory of how Malfoy's lapels ended up bunched within his hands, only that when he snapped out of his blinding rage he was growling unsteadily and had the blond pinned up against the sink. Inhaling sharply, he moved to release the blond, only then realizing that the other wizard was making no effort to free himself. In fact, not only was Malfoy not reaching for his wand or trying to shove his fist into Harry's bared teeth, but he wore a look of amused delight upon his face. "Shut it, Malfoy," the dark-haired wizard said hoarsely, unnerved by the Slytherin's strange behaviour. Giving the blond one last push, he released him and whirled around, taking two quick steps to the door of the loo and wrenching the lock open. He fought down the urge to glance over his shoulder and instead yanked the door closed behind him, wheeling in the direction of the compartment he shared with Hermione and Ron.

His hands were balled into fists and he had to concentrate on unclenching them, drawing deep breaths as he attempted to slow the pounding of his heart. Mindlessly, he navigated the narrow corridor, nodding to several witches and wizards as he passed the open doors of their compartments. It was only when he was dropping back onto the bench across from Ron's slumbering form that he realized his headache was gone and his stomach had stopped roiling. He actually felt rather good, like he was coming down from some drug induced high.

"It's just adrenaline," he attempted to reassure himself. However, the look Malfoy had worn was terribly unsettling. Other than that look, though, the blond had been his usual charming self - all silver-tongued insults wrapped within the visage of some elven prince. By the time Hermione came rushing into the compartment wearing a look of concern and clutching a potion vial, he had himself completely convinced that the small grin Malfoy had worn had been a trick of the light. In fact, Malfoy had been so frightened for his life that he'd been rendered both speechless and motionless. Yep, Harry thought, reaching for the vial Hermione offered him, he was definitely the man. Or would that be Wolfman? With a mischievous grin, he tossed back the contents of the vial and swung his legs up onto the bench, deciding to ponder the question while he took a quick nap.

XxXxX

tbc


	2. A Grimmauld Place Christmas

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Chapter Two - A Grimmauld Place Christmas**

* * *

The ruthless shriek of the train's whistle had Harry jerking upwards, his bleary orbs darting to the window beside him. A relieved sigh slipped between his lips as he collapsed back onto the bench and closed his eyes, lifting a hand to scrub indelicately at his face. He was somewhat surprised to realize they had already reached their destination; the familiar platform of 9 3/4 bustling beyond the thin glass. A soft thump had his eyes snapping open and his head turning toward the bench opposite him, his tensed muscles relaxing as Hermione offered him an apologetic smile.

"How's your head?" The witch whispered quietly, shrugging Ron's head from her shoulder without sparing him a glance. She rose from the bench and reached for the bags stowed in the overhead racking, tugging down her small book bag and blue winter coat.

Harry pondered the question a moment before grinning in relief, the pounding in his head having vanished while he slept. "Much better, thanks," he said, swinging his feet to the floor and standing. He rolled his shoulders slowly, ridding himself of the kinks in his muscles as he stretched his arms above his head, fingers splayed.

"You're welcome," Hermione murmured, offering him a pleased smile. The grin fell from her features as she studied his bare face, internally wondering over the absence of his always-present spectacles. "Would you like me to fix your glasses now?"

Harry froze at the unexpected question, his mind stumbling over itself to create a credible lie quickly. "I forgot them," he said in a rush, lowering his arms and offering the witch a lame smile. "I set them on my desk and forgot to grab them on my way out of the dorm. Breakfast," he mumbled with an apologetic shrug of shoulders, knowing the poor excuse would be believable coming from either him or Ron.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, shrugging into her coat. Her gaze landed on Ron's slumbering form as she turned to grab her bag, her lips compressing into a firm line that expressed her displeasure over the redhead's current state. "Get up, Ron!" She snapped loudly, giving the wizard a whack on the side of the head.

Eyes flying open, Ron practically leapt to his feet, his head swinging from side to side as he scanned the compartment in search of his mother. "Merlin, Hermione," he grumbled after a moment, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, "You sounded exactly like my Mum." The mumbled complaint earned him a hard frown and a contemptuous snort from the bushy-haired witch.

Harry grinned at the byplay between the pair, shaking his head even as he snagged the carry-on bag that held the school robes he'd been wearing earlier and an assortment of activities meant to entertain him for the duration of the train ride. He tugged on his heavy winter cloak, knowing he'd have no need for a normal coat like Hermione, who'd be returning home with her muggle parents. "Come on you two, everyone's waiting for us." Giving Ron a playful shove, he grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her out of the compartment, joining the steady flow of students streaming excitedly off the Hogwarts Express. His eyes swept over the large group of parents eagerly waiting on the platform, scanning the faces in search of Remus.

"There." Hermione's hand shot over his shoulder, one finger leveled at the wizard standing quietly in the center of a group of cheerfully calling parents. The witch squeezed his arm tightly, a brilliant smile curving her lips as she waved happily at her own parents.

Feeling her excitement, the dark-haired wizard waved merrily at his father's old friend. "Remus!" Harry called happily, jumping over the last step and landing lightly on the platform at King's Cross. He flew the short distance into the older wizard's arms, giving him an exuberant hug. The smile he wore died as Remus gave him an absent pat on the back and then set him quickly aside. "Remus?" He repeated softly, his brow furrowing in worry.

"Do you have all your bags, Harry?" Remus asked quietly, his gaze darting anxiously about the busy platform. His thin frame seemed to vibrate with barely restrained tension as students continued to disembark, the small area quickly becoming overcrowded. "And Hedwig?" He asked in a much louder voice, settling a firm hand on the dark-haired teen's shoulder and pulling him protectively closer.

Exchanging a quick glance with Hermione, Harry nodded in response to Remuss question and hefted Hedwig's cage, bringing the flustered owl to the other wizard's attention. "My trunks in-" His mouth snapped closed as he was hurriedly herded away from the train, only managing a quick wave of his fingers at Hermione before the crowd closed in around her. With an irritated sigh, he allowed himself to be shepherded through the maze of witches and wizards, mumbling insincere apologies as Hedwig's cage swung along in his wake. "Slow down, Remus," he complained finally, attempting to shrug away from the taller man's guiding hand.

"Not now, Harry." Remus said, ignoring the younger wizard's attempts to slip out of his grasp. He tightened his fingers on Harry's shoulder, his wary gaze darting left and right. They halted when the reached the edge of the crowd, Remus retaining his hold on Harry as he searched for the rest of the retrieval party. He frowned when Tonks appeared suddenly before them, her mauve eyes wide and her wand held against her side. As she opened her mouth, he frantically shook his head, tipping his chin at Harry and widening his eyes in warning.

Tonks, in turn, rolled her eyes. "A word, if you would, Remus," she muttered dryly, giving a wave of her wand at a spot a few meters away.

"Wait here," Remus ordered Harry, grabbing Tonks by the arm and beginning to haul her to the indicated spot. "And don't move!" He frowned when the younger wizard rolled his eyes and turned away, demonstrating his obvious displeasure with the command.

Shaking his head in disgust, Harry set Hedwig's cage at his feet and crossed his arms. He idly scanned the mass of witches and wizards, shamelessly eavesdropping on the closest conversations. It was a soft whisper, though, that caught his attention. His head tipped in response as he tried to recapture the quiet murmur. When it came again, he tensed, his eyes narrowing. Someone was saying his name, repeating it over and over again in a steady litany.

Slowly, he lifted his chin, his emerald orbs sweeping the crowd, meticulously searching for the source of the sound. His entire body stiffened when he located the individual who had emitted the noise. Watching him through smirking silver eyes, Draco Malfoy smiled, his lips barely parting as he repeated his almost inaudible whisper. _Harry Potter_.

It was what the blond next breathed that caused Harry to suck in a sharp breath and take an unsteady step backward. Smirking secretively, Draco Malfoy stared straight into his narrowed eyes and whispered, Werewolf.

That whisper raised Harry's hackles. He scanned the crowd quickly, attempting to determine whether or not anyone else had heard the damning accusation. A relieved sigh slid from his mouth when he found the students and their parents oblivious to the soft hiss. His blazing eyes snapped back to the blond, his lips curling in a feral snarl. Against his will, he took a threatening step forward, delighting in the sudden flash of wariness that crept into the other wizard's orbs. He was so pleased by the reaction he'd garnered that he took another step forward, a slightly louder growl rumbling in his chest.

Rather than retreat, Malfoy smiled widely.

The challenge was impossible to pass up. With fists clenched, Harry began a predatory march forward, his eyes locked on his target. Something inside him seemed to stir, testing its boundaries as he closed the distance between himself and the blond. He was brought to an abrupt halt when a hand closed around his upper arm, the tight grip nearly swinging him around.

"Harry, I thought I told you not to move," Remus chided, shaking his head and beginning to drag the younger wizard towards the nearest exit. He frowned as Harry fought his hold, glancing quickly about in search of danger while tightening his grip.

Barely suppressing a snarl, Harry tried to wiggle away from Remus, his gaze returning to the spot Malfoy had occupied only seconds ago. He stopped struggling when he found the blond gone, his brow furrowing at the speed with which the Slytherin had managed to vanish. His anger dissipated with the blond's disappearance. "I was looking for Ron," he mumbled, slapping at the hand locked around his bicep.

"Arthur already picked him and Ginny up," Remus replied, pulling a folded newspaper from a pocket of the dark brown jacket he wore and offering an end to Harry. He impatiently waited for it to be taken, his gaze sweeping the surrounding area until the dark-haired teen huffed unhappily and grabbed the paper. Giving one final look around the platform, he murmured, "Castle," and closed his eyes as they were whisked off to Grimmauld Place.

XxXxX

It took Harry a mere six hours in Grimmauld Place to realize that keeping his secret in a house occupied by another werewolf was going to be a major problem. While he was still learning how to filter scents and smells, to determine what everything his nose told him meant, Remus had had years of experience. He found himself cringing every time the older male passed by him, silently praying that Remus would remain oblivious to the change in his scent. The presence of the Weasley family brought him some measure of relief; each member of the redheaded clan adding to the various smells wafting through the large house

In addition to avoiding Remus, he had taken to wearing copious amounts of cologne in hopes of disguising his changed scent. It was definitely not a perfect solution to the problem of keeping his secret, and he'd almost reached his breaking point when he'd sat down for breakfast between Fred and George and the pair had eased their chairs away from him. Still, there were times when Remus would stiffen and inhale deeply, a frown marring his tired features.

Unfortunately, his luck ran out after dinner on Christmas Eve.

Eyes glazed as he stared out the window above the kitchen sink, Harry allowed a faint smile to curve his lips; dinner had been perfect. Setting the plate he had been washing in the rack at his elbow, he reached for the next dish, tossing a curious glance over his shoulder as the kitchen door creaked open.

Unease crept through him at the sight of Remus, the older wizard's features drawn and wary as he slowly approached Harry. He stiffened when Remus halted within touching distance, his hands frozen on the plate he'd been washing, his shouldered hunching as the older wizard leaned closer and snuffled loudly at the nape of his neck. He swallowed heavily as dread rose within his belly, his fingers clutching desperately at the ragged dishcloth he held. "Remus?" He whispered pathetically, cringing away from the other wizard.

A keening howl of outrage shattered the silence of Grimmauld Place. Immediately in the wake of the belling wail came startled cries and the pounding of feet, the occupants of the house dashing worriedly in the direction of the sound.

Placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, Remus spun the young wizard around, staring down into frightened emerald orbs. "What have you done?" He hissed in a scandalized voice. His eyes were wide, the amber orbs glowing with a feral light as he gave Harry a rough shake.

"What have I done?" Harry repeated through numb lips. He stared at Remus dumbly, not knowing how to respond to the accusation. Rage welled within him suddenly, fisting his hands and drawing a savage snarl from his mouth. He was dimly aware of the kitchen door swinging open, of the faces staring at him in surprise as he lifted his hands and shoved Remus forcefully away from him. "What have I done!" A fierce growl spilled over his teeth, the sound earning him a whimper from one of the Weasleys clustered against the far wall.

Rather than cower and admit he'd made a mistake, Harry squared his shoulders and stood his ground, his eyes darting back and forth between the Weasleys and Remus. As far as he was concerned, the blame for his current condition lay solely on the shoulders of the little brat who'd bitten him. And when he found said brat, he'd put him over his knee and tan his arse.

"What's going on?" Arthur demanded, placing himself bravely in front of his family. He clutched his wand as twin pairs of shining orbs turned in his direction, the combined glare causing him to take an unconscious step backwards.

Remus lifted an arm and indicated Harry with a small flutter of his hand. "He's a werewolf."

"That's absurd," Molly huffed, attempting to push past her husband's arm.

Remus gave a harsh laugh, his arrowed orbs sliding back to Harry. "I can smell it in him," he spat, inhaling deeply in demonstration. Nostrils pinching in distaste, he glared at the young wizard for a moment before whirling around and stalking the length of the narrow kitchen, halting on the far side of the table. He dragged shaking fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself.

Glancing nervously back and forth between the pair, Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Surely you're mistaken, Remus."

"Yeah," Ron scoffed from behind his mother, "I think I would have noticed if my best mate was a werewolf." His confidant statement fell short as he glanced at Harry, noticing the guilty gleam in the twin emeralds. "Harry?"

"I was going to tell you," Harry mumbled softly. Gasps and dismayed mumbles filled the room, all eyes turning to stare at the raven-haired wizard in disbelief. Unable to take the full weight of their displeasure, he turned back to the sink, staring down into the soapy water. His shoulders tensed as he prepared for the imminent explosion, his hands closing around the edge of the counter.

"When?" Remus bellowed from across the kitchen, slamming his hands down on the ancient kitchen table. "After you'd bitten someone?"

Harry spun around at the angered accusation, two short strides bringing him to the table directly across from Remus. "This is not my fault!" He screamed, slamming a balled hand into the top of the heavy kitchen table. He almost winced as the wood cracked beneath his fist, almost. Gritting his teeth, he drew a deep breath and glanced around the room at his rapt audience. The frightened expressions on their faces sent satisfaction rippling through him. For once, they were listening to him. Slowly, he lifted his hand and uncurled his fingers, noting the already healing scrapes on the side of his fist. "It's not my fault," he repeated, "I didn't ask for this."

"Oh, you poor dear," Mrs. Weasley murmured, her voice tinged with pity. She watched him sadly from behind Arthur, no longer attempting to push past his restraining arm. Instead, she had sidled in front of Ron and Ginny, putting herself protectively in front of her youngest children. "Of course you didn't ask for it, nobody ever does." Although sympathy rang true in her voice, she had drawn her wand from the folds of her apron.

Ignoring Molly, Remus pounded a hand on the table, turning Harry's head back in his direction. "Is this because of Sirius?" He demanded in a near shout, his eyes blazing as he leaned across the table.

At the mention of his deceased Godfather's name, Harry's lips curled, an inhuman growl trickling over his lips. The tight leash he'd kept on his temper and tongue snapped, allowing him to lean forward and reply in a sarcastic purr. "Yes, Remus, this is because of Sirius. Everything I do is because of Sirius. In fact, I'd planned on honouring his memory by pouring Veritaserum in the Slytherins morning punch, but this was just so much more convenient. Do you think hed approve?"

Remus released a roar of fury and lunged across the table, his hands wildly grabbing for Harry. Harry, after knocking a kitchen chair out of his way, leapt atop the table and into Remus' waving arms. Considering its age and the recent bout of abuse it had taken, the ancient table didn't stand a chance of withstanding the combined weight of two wizards. With a weak creak, it broke, spilling the tussling pair to the ground where they continued to roll around. The Weasley clan watched on in mute fascination, unsure of how best to intervene.

Despite the hands wrapped tightly around his throat, Harry focused on repeatedly punching Remus wherever he could, slowing only when stars began to dance before his eyes and his chest began to burn from lack of oxygen. Teeth grit, he struggled against the older wizard's hold, his hands lifting to scrabble desperately at the fingers encircling his neck. They were interrupted seconds before darkness could descend completely.

"As entertaining as this is, may I ask whats going on here?" The drawled question had everyone looking toward the back door, and the individual standing just inside it. Dark brows arching questioningly, Severus Snape stepped further into the kitchen, his obsidian eyes sweeping the chamber with disinterest. He shifted his gaze from the destroyed table to Remus and Harry, his brow furrowing as the older wizard thrust the younger ruthlessly away from him.

Rising slowly to his feet, Remus leaned heavily against the fridge, blood dribbling down his chin. "He's been bitten," he spat in disgust, raising a hand to swipe at the blood dripping from his nose. For a moment he stared down at Harry's still form, his lips tightening noticeably before he turned and limped from the room. Silence followed his departure.

Harry lay still upon the floor, his eyes on the ceiling above him. His lids sunk down slowly, his hands curling into tight balls. Drawing a sharp breath, he rolled slowly to his side, beginning a painful climb to his feet. He was aware of everyone watching him, could smell the fear hovering in the air above the group. With one last effort he straightened, his chin lifting as he swept the group with orbs that shimmered dangerously.

"I think it's time for bed," Molly whispered loudly, her eyes darting about the kitchen. She swallowed nervously at Harry's tense form, dragging Ginny and Ron closer until their faces were practically pressed into her bosom. Forcing a smile to her lips, she nodded in greeting at Severus and then began to sidestep toward the door, pulling her children along with her. The panel swung open before she could reach it, halting her retreat.

Blazing orbs scanning the kitchen, Remus stepped further into the room, the door swinging closed behind him. "Dumbledore will be here in the morning," he announced, lowering the cloth he'd been holding against his nose. He glanced at the stained fabric before tossing it onto the counter, his gaze shifting to Severus. "Will you be spending the night? Because I think Dumbledore will-"

"The children were just going up to bed," Molly interrupted him in a shrill voice, her arms tightening around Ron and Ginny. She shot a pleading look at Remus, begging him to understand as she continued to sidle toward the door.

Expression grim, Remus dipped his chin in agreement, his amber eyes finally slipping to Harry. "I imagine tomorrow will be an early morning for everyone. To bed, all of you," he ordered briskly. His eyes remained locked on Harry as he awaited the impending explosion, his shoulders tensing as the younger male opened his mouth. "Now." He inwardly cringed at the snarl of defiance the command garnered him from the dark-haired wizard, but outwardly he remained completely unmoved.

"Ron, take Ginny upstairs," Molly murmured, her gaze darting back and forth between Remus and Harry. Her voice grew sharp as she quickly ushered her youngest children safely from the room, ignoring their whined complaints.

"I'm not tired," Harry growled, stepping fee of the broken table and turning to face Remus. He put his back against the counter and crossed his arms, his movements slow and smooth to avoid jarring his bruised neck. The corners of his lips drew upward in a smug smirk as he surveyed the older male, taking pride and pleasure over the considerable amount of damage he'd done. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he lifted his chin, awaiting Remus' next move.

Jaw clenched, Remus considered his options, debating the wisdom of challenging the younger wizard. After the short but brutal altercation that had occurred only moments ago, he assumed it was safe to say that Harry was almost as physically strong as him. Perhaps, given time and experience, the dark-haired male would even be able to defeat him. Fortunately for him, Harry was currently unaware of that fact. "Then why don't you go up to your room and work on your holiday assignments."

"I don't-"

"Potter, I suggest you go up to your room," Snape drawled, tapping his wand lightly against his velvet-covered arm. His brow lifted slowly as the younger wizard glanced around the kitchen, internally hoping the Gryffindor would attempt something stupid.

Realizing the pair were more than he could handle, Harry snarled in frustration and whirled around, stalking angrily from the room. He slammed the kitchen door behind him, the sharp crack echoing through the house. Teeth grit, he stormed through the lower level of Grimmauld Place, his ears picking up the hushed whispers from above. Placing one hand on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, he began to stomp up the narrow steps. His angry strides faltered when he gained the second floor, his eyes narrowing on the trunk resting against the wall opposite the room he and Ron had been sharing.

Fingers curling, he prowled forward, his emerald orbs narrowing. With no more than a quick glance, he identified the trunk as his own. A snarl of fury flew from his mouth as he spun to face the door, one hand reaching out to grab the doorknob. He wrenched furiously on the brass doorknob, unwilling to believe Ron had actually locked him out of his own room.

"Ron!" He yelled, pounding a balled hand against the door. His sensitive ears picked up the wizard's squeak of fear, his nose confirming the redhead's current state of terror. A spasm of delight shot through him at the alluring scent, tightening his hand around the doorknob.

"Go away, Harry." Ron's voice was nothing more than a terrified whimper.

Harry smiled at the redhead's refusal. "It's my room, too," he reminded the other wizard, crushing the doorknob with a light flex of his fingers. Pressing his hand against the wood, he attempted to push the panel open, his brow furrowing when the door refused to budge. He jerked roughly on the handle, rattling the door in its frame and causing the hinges to groan. "Open the door!"

"No." Ron called from within the chamber, his voice sounding distant.

A wild snarl was ripped free of Harry's throat at the redhead's adamant refusal. Without thinking, he slammed a fist into the thick wooden door, his mouth dropping open in surprise when his hand went straight through the oak. From inside the chamber, Ron screeched in fear, the sound stabbing at his sensitive ears. Deciding the other wizard deserved a little pain for his rude behaviour, the raven-haired wizard drew back his hand and dragged his fingers down the door, shredding the wood as if it were paper.

"Harry, back away from the door."

Stilling, Harry tipped his head, glancing at the small group that had gathered meters away at the top of the stairs. One dark brow arched, his fingers absently digging through the wood as he considered the assembled Order members. Even while he stared at them, the thing inside his head began to plot, carefully planning the order in which he'd destroy each of them, creating the quickest way to act without getting injured severely. The speed with which it calculated distances and odds was almost mind-boggling.

"Petrificus Totalus," Snape drawled with a flick of his wand. The spell froze Harry, allowing the group to creep cautiously closer.

"That was uncalled for, Snape," Remus muttered, placing a hand on the side of the younger wizard's face. He inhaled sharply at the fire blazing within the emerald orbs, withdrawing his hand and taking a step backward. "Now what do we do with him?"

A malicious smirk gracing his face, Severus glared down at Harry's stiff form. "I have an idea," he purred, rolling his wand between his fingers. Giving a dainty flick of his fingers, he levitated the Gryffindor's body into the air and led the way down the hall, an almost jaunty skip in his step.

XxXxX

The attic. They'd actually had the audacity to toss him, Harry James Potter - Saviour of the Wizarding World - into the attic. Granted, it was probably one of the nicest attics he'd ever been in, it was still an attic. There was a fine network of cobwebs in the rafters and a thick film of dust upon the floor. Abandoned nick-knacks, unwanted furniture, and broken toys filled the space. In Harry's opinion, they probably could have found somewhere a lot worse to house him until Dumbledore arrived.

He lay still upon the floor of the attic room, curling and uncurling his fingers as he slowly regained his mobility. The last of the spells disintegrated, leaving him sprawled on the cold wooden boards, nursing countless bruises and scratches. With a muffled curse, he heaved himself into a sitting position, his eyes sweeping the cluttered room.

They'd actually tossed him in the attic . . . he'd just become the Order's dirty little secret. Despite everything that had occurred within the last thirty minutes, he felt strangely relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The secret was out; he no longer had anything to hide.

Rubbing his sore jaw, he rose and limped toward the only source of light in the room; a narrow window almost hidden behind a pile of broken furniture. His enhanced sight allowed him to see everything the darkness should have hidden, revealing Grimmauld Place's secrets to his glowing eyes. He carelessly shoved a broken armoire aside, knocking over a still ticking grandfather clock in the process. Ignoring the clatter and the crunch of broken glass, he placed a hand on the window and attempted to wipe the glass free of grime. Nose crinkling as he only managed to smear the dirt around, he flipped the lock and swung the window open. His eyes drifted shut at the first rush of cool air. He had only a moment to enjoy the sensation before a familiar sound forced him to abandon the position. Stepping back, he allowed the unfamiliar owl access to room, silently pondering its business with him..

Opening one eye, he stared at the nondescript barn owl perched on an old brass footboard, its amber eyes hooded." Hello," he murmured in greeting, swiveling to face the bird. Under his gaze, the owl hooted nervously, shifting on its perch. After a moments hesitation, he prowled toward the bird, extending a hand to grasp the note and package it carried. As soon as both items were firmly within his grasp, the owl launched itself into the air and flew out the window, leaving only a single brown feather to mark its passage.

Arching a brow in surprise, Harry unfolded the piece of parchment, his second brow rising as he read the teal script.

_Merry Christmas Harry,_

Its only a matter of time before they slip one of these around your neck. When youre tired of playing lapdog, come and see me.

FG

Expression darkening, he dropped the letter and tore the wrapping off the package, his lip curling in disgust at what he had revealed. Snarling in outrage, he hurled the offensive gift across the room and whirled around, not bothering to watch the simple leather collar strike the far wall and fall to lie among the attic's rubble.

XxXxX

Amidst the swaying branches of naked oaks and beneath a crescent moon, two individuals met. They exchanged neither pleasantries nor greetings, merely eyed each other as the snow swirled down around them. The icy silence was broken by the wail of a wolf, the sound tipping both their heads in the direction of the lonely hail.

"Well?" The taller demanded of the smaller, shifting restlessly in his boots. His pale blue orbs remained locked on his companion, his patience thinning as the other male shuffled nervously. A threatening growl vibrated his chest and peeled his lips back from glistening teeth.

Raising stormy gray eyes, the shorter male gave the slightest inclination of his head, a small smile playing across his lips. "Yes." He stated simply, tensing at the bark of laughter that escaped his companion. With nary a wave or word of farewell, he spun on his heel and followed the path he'd taken earlier, the relief he felt at completing his task nearly overwhelming him, because this changed everything. The Wizarding World had just been dealt a terrible blow and they remained unaware of it. But they would know . . . it was only a matter of time

XxXxX

A/n: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review, your support and comments are greatly appreciated as is your continued reading of my writing and this particular story.


	3. Dumbledore and Christmas Dinner

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Three – Dumbledore and Christmas Dinner

* * *

After spending a restless night in the room directly below the eaves, Harry could attest, with one hundred per cent certainty, that there was no Santa Claus. At least not in the wizarding world, anyway. Stifling a yawn, he glanced at the closed window, attempting to gauge the time by the amount of light passing through the dirty glass. Though the grime coating the panes was thick, his eyes were easily able to detect the first rays of light brightening the sky. It was Christmas morning, and he was still locked in the attic.

Three stories below his two star accommodations, Grimmauld Place began to stir; the first whisper of voices reaching his ears. He stretched slowly as pipes groaned, water gushed, and feet pounded down the stairs, the clamor increasing to a point where further sleep would prove impossible. With a heavy groan, he flopped onto his stomach, the springs of the narrow cot he was sprawled upon creaking in protest.

Knowing he would be unable to fall back asleep didn't prevent him from closing his eyes and snuggling back down on the incredibly uncomfortable mattress, his ears absently tuning in to the mindless chatter rising from the kitchen. Almost against his will, he began to identify the various voices, taking an internal attendance of the individuals currently residing in the large house. Molly, Arthur, Fred and George, Ron, Ginny, Snape, Tonks, Remus, Shacklebolt, Moody, and Dumbledore. The last was enough to open his eyes, bringing him completely awake.

Harry tipped his head to the left, his brow furrowing as he tried to interpret the soft mumbles drifting up through the floorboards. Even with his enhanced hearing, the conversation occurring within the kitchen remained to indistinct to be of any interest. Oh, he was able to make out the odd snippet here and there, but nothing of any real consequence. With a dissatisfied grunt, he dropped his chin back to his forearm, his eyes drifting closed.

Although nothing but the odd mumble reached his ears, he became extremely aware of the moment silence fell over Grimmauld Place. It was a deep, heavy silence. An unnatural silence. A silence that could never be achieved in a house like Grimmauld Place without some form of aid.

Emerald orbs flying open, he rolled over and sat up, a worried frown riding his features. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he focused all his senses on the lower level of the house, and found nothing. Beyond the attic, there was no sign of life. Not a whisper nor a bout of raucous laughter rose from below. And there was only one thing that had the power to render complete silence upon Grimmauld Place.

Magic.

Someone was using magic to render his senses null; making sure that he couldn't possibly hear the conversation occurring downstairs. Which could only mean one thing: they were discussing him. A growl was torn from his mouth, his hands fisting as he leapt up off the cot and thumped angrily down the narrow stairs to the locked door that was all that contained him. He wrenched on the knob, punching the wood ruthlessly when he found the lock still engaged.

"Remus!" He yelled loudly, aiming a savage kick at the door. He inwardly fumed as he glared at the portal, his knuckles whitening. When no response was forthcoming, he turned around and stomped back up the stairs, beginning an angry prowl back and forth across the dusty boards. Last night's confrontation was still fresh in his mind, but it had obviously already been forgotten by everyone else. Lips curling in a silent snarl, he swung around and stalked in the opposite direction, gliding quietly through the dark. His churning thoughts slowed when his gaze landed on the small attic window, his pacing coming to an abrupt halt.

Doing something overly dramatic and dangerous was the farthest thing from his mind, however, desperate times called for desperate measures. Pursing his lips, he walked slowly toward the window, the heels of his boots ringing ominously upon the floor. He chewed his bottom lip as he considered the grimy panes of glass. Sure, taking a swan dive out a fourth story window didn't exactly seem like the greatest escape plan he could possibly devise. In fact, he was pretty sure he should place that option at the very bottom of his list.

"Five more minutes," he decided, turning away from the window and pacing back across the attic. Meanwhile, his thoughts resumed their course, circling around the conversation he knew was occurring downstairs. He could just imagine the Order's outrage over the information Remus was giving them. Undoubtedly, they would assume the entire thing was some nefarious plot schemed up by Voldemort to turn the Wizarding World against Harry. Harry, on the other hand, thought the entire plan lacked a certain distinctive touch generally found in Voldemort's work. Mainly, the absence of an attempt to wipe him off the face of the earth.

Grimacing at the thought, he turned on his heel, gliding back across the room. Once again his eyes returned to the window, contemplating the chances of walking away from what would assumably be a very hard landing. Unable to prevent a shiver from shaking his shoulders, he spun around and glared at the darkened stairwell, dragging his fingers roughly through his shaggy locks. They were down there arranging his future, again. He could allow it, or he could put a stop to it, the choice was his. A growl rose within his throat and he whirled around, striding purposefully toward the window.

His fingers had barely brushed the latch when noise erupted from below. The explosion sent him to his knees, his hands pressed tightly over his ears. With his eyes squeezed closed and his teeth grit, he waited for the clatter to subside, pressing his forehead against the cool boards of the floor. After a moment, his hearing adjusted, the loud voices dimming to mere whispers. He drew a deep breath, his nose filling with the smell of bacon grease and burning toast. Swearing softly under his breath, he pushed himself to his feet, standing shakily in the darkened chamber.

Turning back to face the door, he opened his mouth and bellowed, "Remus!" Almost immediately the voices quieted, returning seconds later in nearly panicked hisses. Smirking to himself, he slipped into the heaviest shadows the attic could offer, concealing himself in the corner farthest from the window. He licked his lips as he listened to the stairs squeak beneath someone's weight, his palms growing damp. His eyes remained focused on the top of the narrow stairwell that led up to the attic, his ears listening for the telltale click of the lock on the door at the base of those stairs. His heart pounded with his mounting excitement and he had to remind himself to breathe as he waited.

The click of the lock was as loud as a gunshot to his sensitive ears. From his place within the shadows, Harry watched Remus climb the stairs. He shifted nervously, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance, his position becoming slightly more aggressive. When amber orbs landed unfailingly on him, he tensed, the piercing gaze curling his lip in a warning growl.

"Good morning, Harry," Remus said, keeping his tone moderate. He ignored the soft rumble that escaped the younger male, choosing instead to scan the room idly.

"Even the Dursley's let me out to use the loo," Harry spat. His eyes narrowed at the disappointed sigh that slipped over Remus' lips, the sound causing his teeth to begin an audible grind. He waited impatiently for the older wizard to respond, his fingers curling and uncurling.

Eyes snapping closed at Harry's bitter words, Remus heaved another sigh and raised a hand to massage the ache growing behind his right temple. When he reopened his eyes, the dark-haired wizard was in the exact same position; shoulders braced, hands fisted, teeth bared, and a wild light shining in his emerald orbs that practically screamed his readiness for battle. "Perhaps you should have a seat," he said, indicating the nearby cot with a wave of his hand.

Glaring at Remus in disbelief, Harry took a step back and placed his hands on the dresser behind him, boosting himself effortlessly atop the dark wood. "Consider me seated," he snarled, watching the other wizard suspiciously. He nearly leapt from his perch when Remus moved, his entire body tensing in preparation for either fight or flight. "You were discussing me," he said, hoping to hide his nervous reaction by making the first verbal thrust.

Unable to deny the accusation, Remus dipped his head. It was imperative that he win back Harry's trust, and lying was definitely not the way to go about doing that. "We were talking about you," he acknowledged, "But we also realized we owe you a very big apology. We overreacted . . . all of us. At a time like this the last thing you need is all of us jumping down your throat and making wild assumptions." He paused there, his gaze locked on Harry's face as he searched for some sign the younger wizard was softening.

Harry merely arched a brow and leaned back on his palms, the heel of one boot drumming absently against the drawers of the dresser.

"It was just such a big surprise, Harry. You have to understand how everyone felt. How I felt. I'm sorry I acted like an ass, but I couldn't believe you'd keep something so important from me. Me, the one person who'd be able to help and understand you better than anyone else," Remus finished lamely. He held his breath as he watched Harry, attempting to read every nuance of the dark-haired wizard's expression.

_He's lying._ Harry stiffened at the declaration and glanced over his shoulder, searching for the source of the accusation. His drumming heel stopped and he straightened from his lazy slouch. Brow furrowing in confusion, he scanned the chamber, his anxiety growing at finding himself very much alone except for Remus. _He's lying_, the growl was repeated, the simple statement ringing inside his skull.

Remus tipped his head, watching Harry carefully. "What's it saying?" He asked, smiling at the widening of the younger wizard's eyes. With an amused wag of his head, he slid his hands into his pockets and walked across the room, the heels of his boots scuffing across the boards.

Swallowing, Harry wrapped his fingers around the edge of the dresser, his nails biting into the hard wood. "What are you talking about?" He asked, hoping he appeared at least a little confused by the question. His wary gaze remained on Remus, his heart pounding within his chest as he drew a deep breath, silently waiting for that damning voice to make another appearance.

"The thing inside your head, what's it telling you?" Murmured Remus, halting in front of the narrow window and staring out at the city. His eyes may have been on the snow-covered streets of London, but his attention was on the younger wizard. The corners of his lips turned up wryly at Harry's continued silence; he'd lost him. He turned back to face the dark-haired male, the tight smile he wore fading as emerald orbs glared at him from the shadows. "I've played this game longer than you've lived, Harry, remember that."

Harry merely arched a dark brow, his heels resuming their rhythmic tattoo against the drawers.

Remus sighed and shook his head, striding toward the staircase. "Fine, we'll talk about this later, when you're ready." He halted with one foot hovering above the first stair, his gaze returning to where Harry sat, appearing every bit the rebellious young wizard perched arrogantly atop the chest of drawers. "Albus is waiting for you in the kitchen. Mind your manners," he added sharply, stiffening at the soft rumble that reverberated through the attic. Giving the younger male one last glare of warning, he turned and descended the stairs, leaving the door at the bottom ajar.

Harry stopped swinging his foot and straightened from his slouch, listening carefully to the departing footsteps of Remus. Only once he was certain he was alone did he slip from his perch and slink toward the stairwell, his entire body nearly quivering with excitement at the sight of the open door and the freedom beyond it. Sweeping the attic with a final cautious glance, he slid stealthily down the stairs and nudged the door at the bottom open further, peeking around its edge carefully.

His eyes swept the empty corridor, missing nothing. The position of each decorative table and portrait was noted and remembered almost absently, tucked away in the corner of his mind for future use. A sudden whiff of frying bacon had his stomach growling, the smell causing him to lick his lips hungrily and abandon his thorough examination of the hallway. Throwing caution to the wind, he followed his nose to the kitchen.

Molly gave a startled yelp at his sudden appearance in the kitchen, pressing one hand against her chest as she drew a calming breath. "Good morning, Harry," she said after a moment's hesitation, a forced smile curving her lips. Her eyes were wary as the young wizard dropped into a chair at the table. Without thinking, she brushed her apron pocket, feeling for the comforting length of her wand. Unbeknownst to her, the telling gesture had not gone unnoticed.

Since he didn't have anything nice to say, Harry reached for the plate full of food sitting in the center of the table and pulled it closer. His gaze flicked to where Molly hovered near the sink, the witch seeming uncertain about whether or not he should be left alone in the kitchen. Deciding to ignore her, he snagged a fork and began to shovel eggs into his mouth, slowing only when the door opened and Dumbledore shuffled into the room.

"Another wonderful breakfast, Molly," Dumbledore said softly, giving his stomach a satisfied pat. He offered the red-haired witch a reassuring smile as he turned to face Harry. The smile fell from his face at the feral glow in the emerald orbs locked on him, the twin spheres following his every movement. Unable to contain the weary sigh that slipped over his tongue, he drew out the chair opposite the dark-haired male, seating himself gingerly upon the hard wood. "I believe Arthur's waiting in the front den for you," he said over his shoulder to Molly, smoothing his bright scarlet robes as she chattered nervously behind him.

The polite dismissal was all the witch needed. After placing a teacup at Dumbledore's elbow, she fled the kitchen, the door swinging back and forth with the speed of her departure. Her absence brought immediate silence to the warm kitchen, the quiet broken only by the scrape of Harry's fork.

"Remus tells me we have a bit of a problem, my boy," Dumbledore said after several minutes, his gaze intent as he stared at Harry. He reached for the teacup next to his arm, curling his fingers around the warm porcelain as he waited for Harry to respond. The clock hanging above the stove ticked the seconds past, making the lengthening silence more marked. Somewhere within the house a door slammed, the thud causing the glasses in the cupboard to clink together.

Lowering his gaze from the ceiling, Harry stared at Dumbledore, one brow lifting in query. "I wouldn't say it's a problem, Professor," he said curtly, pushing his empty plate away after giving it a cursory swipe with his remaining quarter of toast. He jammed the hunk of bread into his mouth and chewed slowly, gauging the older wizard's response to his reply. Mouth finally empty, he ran his tongue over his lips, clearing away any lingering crumbs. "Problems generally have a solution." In a fluid movement, he rose and crossed to the fridge, hauling the door open and rifling through its contents.

"I don't believe you understand the exact ramifications of what has occurred, Harry." Dumbledore said slowly, turning his head to keep Harry in his line of sight. He watched the younger wizard closely, catching the telling tensing of his shoulders and the whitening of his knuckles on the handle of the fridge's door.

Drawing a calming breath, Harry loosened his grip on the handle of the fridge and snagged the carton of orange juice hidden behind the milk pitcher. "Nonsense, Professor," he muttered, stepping back and slamming the fridge door closed. He didn't bother to glance at Dumbledore as he unscrewed the cap on the orange juice bottle, his nose wrinkling at the strong smell of tangerine. Without bothering to get a glass, he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long swallow, deeming to elaborate on his answer only once he'd satisfied his thirst. "I think 'fucked' covers the entire situation quite nicely, don't you agree?"

A sharp cuff to the back of his head caught him completely off guard, nearly causing him to drop the bottle he held. With an outraged snarl he whirled around, his eyes flashing at finding Remus standing directly before him. His lips drew back from his teeth at the other male's proximity, a rumble of warning trickling over his tongue.

"I told you to mind your manners," Remus snapped, snatching the juice carton from Harry's hand and gesturing him back toward his chair. He worked to calm himself as he haphazardly slapped the lid back on the container and returned it to the fridge, biting his tongue to keep from yelling. When he was certain he'd be able to glare at the younger male without cursing, he turned around and moved to stand behind Dumbledore, peering over his head at Harry.

Eyes narrowed, Harry dropped back down in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Calm yourself, Remus," Dumbledore said quietly, lifting his teacup and taking a small sip. He watched the young wizard over the cup's rim, his mind churning worriedly. In one strike, Voldemort had dealt the Light a critical blow. And it couldn't have come at a worse time. With a soft sigh, he placed the teacup on the table and clasped his hands before him, aware of Remus' protective presence at his back. "I need you to tell me how this happened, Harry. It's very important that you not leave anything out, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to you. Do you understand?"

If it wasn't for the flash of Remus' teeth, Harry would have rolled his eyes. "I went to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione to finish my Christmas shopping," he began in a bored voice, "I was waiting for them when I heard a noise, so I went to investigate. It was coming from an alley – the one that runs between Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks . . . there were so many people around, I didn't think anything of it. It seemed safe enough." He halted there, his mind returning to that fateful day.

"Go on," Dumbledore urged, his countenance one of patient interest. Remus, on the other hand, watched Harry closely, appearing almost agitated at the slow pace of tale's telling.

Absently trailing a finger over a knot in the wood of the table, Harry drew a deep breath, his gaze locked on his circling digits. "There was a little boy, just sitting there crying. I told him I'd help him find his parents. He took my hand and then told me his father's name was 'Fenrir'. I couldn't pull away . . ." He gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if dismissing the entire incident.

"That's it?" Remus asked, appearing appalled that Harry had fell for the oldest trick in the book.

Hand stilling, Harry straightened, his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of jade. "I could make it more interesting," he said in a growl, his meaning clear in the curling of his fingers.

"That's enough, both of you," Dumbledore said, interrupting the pair before they leapt at each other's throats. He studied the dark-haired wizard thoughtfully, his brow wrinkling. There had to be more than that, Harry had to be omitting some part of the story. "Did he say anything else to you? Anything at all?"

With a curl of his lips, Harry looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes and lied. "Nope." As long as they were organizing his life without his consent, he wasn't telling them anything of importance. Sure, he was probably only going to end up screwing himself over with this one, but he was feeling particularly vindictive at the moment. "Can I go now?" He asked, pushing his chair back in preparation to rise.

Appearing unconvinced, Remus shook his head. "That can't be it. He had to have said something else to you."

"Well, he didn't. But I'll tell you what, the next time I see him, I'll tell him how incredibly offended you were on my behalf that he didn't insult or threaten me in some manner," Harry shot back.

"Boys," Dumbledore said on a sigh. He couldn't help but shake his head, both at Harry's attitude and the lack of information he was able to garner from the brief interrogation. Deciding it was best to end the conversation; at least for the time being, he waved the younger wizard from the kitchen. "Try and stay out of trouble," he called at the swinging door.

Rolling his eyes at the order, Harry stalked down the corridor until he came to the door of the room that shared a wall with the kitchen. He didn't think twice about entering the chamber quietly and slinking toward the far wall. After giving the room a quick scan, he sank down behind a couch and stared at the faded wallpaper, patiently waiting for the pair of wizard's beyond the old brick to resume their conversation. His lips lifted in satisfaction at the soft murmurs, his ears easily distinguishing each word.

"_He'll need to be watched."_ Dumbledore, his to voice uncommonly grim_. "I don't believe this was a completely random occurrence. That boy was there specifically to turn Harry. What I don't understand is why. What could Voldemort possibly be planning?"_

"_Perhaps he's simply trying to decry Harry."_ Remus, sounding morally outraged.

"_Maybe."_ Dumbledore, sounding unconvinced.

"_I can find out."_

Harry sat up, intrigued by the thread of excitement he could hear in the older wizard's voice. What was going through Remus' head that would cause such a reaction?

"_I can hunt Fenrir down and ask him." _Yeah, that would do it.

"_I don't believe that's necessary at this time. For now, my concerns lay with Harry. This is a delicate time for him, Remus. We must handle him carefully while he makes this adjustment."_

"_Perhaps he shouldn't return to Hogwarts . . . one word from the wrong person could end badly."_

The very thought of not returning to Hogwarts had Harry growling softly. He gained his feet fluidly, crushing the urge to return to the kitchen and pummel Remus until he could no longer make stupid suggestions. Instead, he drew a calming breath before turning and leaving the room. With nothing to do, he simply wandered Grimmauld Place, lost in thoughts of the past.

* * *

Eleven hours later he was woken from a fitful doze to the cry of, "Dinner". Swiping a hand over his face, he sat up slowly and peered around the attic, his eyes piercing the darkness with ease. He wasn't surprised to find himself alone; it was a state he was beginning to accept. With a twist of his lips, he rolled off the cot and headed downstairs, his nose leading him to the large dining room directly across from the kitchen. His eyes widened at the crowd that milled around the long room, the crush of people nearly enough to send him back to the attic. Unfortunately, his retreat was halted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't even think about it," Remus growled into his ear, giving him no option but to square his shoulders and step into the room.

His appearance caused a lull in the conversation, all eyes locking on him suspiciously. Shoulders drooping, Harry attempted to shrug out from under Remus' guiding hand, barely unable to curb the snarl that rumbled within his throat. Clamping his teeth together, he allowed himself to be escorted to a chair between Severus and Arthur; Remus claiming the seat directly across from him. Harry glowered at him across a tureen of gravy, his fingers clenched in his lap.

"Potatoes, Harry?" Arthur asked cheerfully, a massive spoon of mashed potatoes hovering over Harry's plate. Without bothering to wait for a response, he placed a heaping spoonful onto the younger wizard's plate, talking happily to himself the entire time.

"Why not," Harry mumbled, allowing himself to be served. He cast a baleful glance down the table, catching Ron's hateful gaze with his own. Baring his teeth in parody of a smile, he picked up his fork and buried it in the pile of peas Arthur had liberally added to his plate. He couldn't help but resent the atmosphere in the room; everyone fairly bursting with Christmas cheer and good wishes. As the meal progressed he was left to his own thoughts -- left to stew about everything that had happened since his arrival at Grimmauld Place. His anger grew with every spoonful of potatoes that crossed his lips. Was this how he was to be treated for the rest of his life? Like a bad puppy that had tinkled on the new rug?

Lowering his fork, he glared at Remus, watching as the older male chatted quietly with Molly Weasley. Remus was allowed to wander the streets without a handler, free of the prosecution Harry had received from those he once considered friends. No longer able to play at being civil, the dark-haired male rose, his sudden movement turning all heads in his direction. Giving no excuse for his abrupt departure, he left the room quietly, returning to his haven in the attic. There, he paced angrily back and forth, pausing only to kick a crumpled ball of paper that had appeared in his path. He stiffened as the ball skittered across the floor, his eyes following it into the shadows. Without a second thought, he chased after it, unfolding and smoothing the wrinkles as he carefully reread the messy scrawl.

_When you're tired of playing lapdog, come and see me. _

Harry drew a deep breath as he considered the invitation. Fenrir Greyback may have been as loopy as Trewlaney, but he did have a point. Harry had options. Ones he'd never before considered. But maybe it was time to start considering those options . . . planning his future as it were. Smiling to himself, he sprawled across his cot and read that note over and over again by the light of the moon.

XxXxX

Harry spent the remainder of his break in the attic, using his time to dig through forgotten trunks and riffling through pieces of Grimmauld Place's broken past. He rarely joined the house's other occupants for meals, preferring instead to eat alone in the attic. His mind never seemed to rest, constantly considering what he would do when he got back to Hogwarts - away from the watchful eyes of Remus Lupin.

That thing that voiced its opinion from deep within his head offered its own suggestions, noting the pros and cons of every idea Harry had. Where at first it had startled him to hear thoughts that weren't quite his own echoing within his head, he had grown to appreciate them, even accept them. The day he realized he was nodding in agreement with something it had said, he began to wonder if he was, perhaps, spending just a little too much time by himself. The voice assured him he wasn't. He begged to differ, but didn't bother to seek out the company of anyone residing in the house, knowing they would only stare at him suspiciously. Instead, he set himself to reorganizing the attic, claiming it as his own.

It was a Monday night, the night before the day they were to return to Hogwarts, that his 'organizing' was interrupted. So absorbed was he in his self-appointed task, that he failed to notice he had a guest. It wasn't until the individual gave a light rap on the wall at the top of the stairs that he realized he was no longer alone.

Stiffening at the soft tap, he inhaled deeply and then straightened in surprise, withdrawing his head and shoulders from the seemingly bottomless trunk he'd been rifling through. Fingers tightening on the edge of the trunk, he slowly glanced in the direction of the stairwell, his face carefully blank. "Come in," he said quietly, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

Curiousity had him watching his visitor with interested orbs, wondering what business the bushy-haired witch could possibly have with him. His lips curled in amusement as Hermione narrowed her eyes and searched the darkened chamber for him, her brow furrowing in concentration. Smile fading, he rose liquidly, the sudden movement causing Hermione to jump and gasp loudly, a hand rising to rest over her fluttering heart.

"Harry, you scared me," she scolded, staring at the wizard's silent form. She attempted a smile and failed miserably, her eyes unable to maintain the cheerful image she was trying to project. Her face fell and she sighed sadly, staring pityingly at the dark-haired wizard. "Oh, Harry. Why didn't you tell me?"

A bitter smile curved Harry's lips and a harsh scoff slipped over his tongue before he was able to suppress it. "That would have gone over well," he said, sarcasm adding a bite to the softly spoken words.

Frowning, Hermione shuffled carefully in Harry's direction, her narrowed eyes sweeping the shadows before her in search of hazards hidden by the darkness. "What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, finally halting before the raven-haired wizard and placing a hand on her hip. She glared up into twin emerald orbs that glimmered eerily, that strange shimmer enough to raise the hair at the nape of her neck and increase the steady beat of her heart. Her body tensed when Harry stretched a hand toward her face, his fingers stopping just above her cheek

Offering the witch a half-hearted smile, Harry removed the offensive digits. "You're afraid of me," he murmured, "I can smell it."

Staring at the raven-haired wizard through wide eyes, Hermione shook her head sadly. "I don't mean to be," she confessed in a whisper. With a soft sigh, she turned and trudged across the attic, absently fiddling with the cuff of the sweater she wore. Thoughtlessly, she seated herself on the edge of Harry's cot, her eyes locked on the toes of her slippers.

Harry peered at the dejected looking witch from his place in the shadows, his fingers curling as he fought down the urge to hit something. Drawing a deep breath, he skulked over to the cot and sat down beside Hermione, resting his hands on his knees. "It'll be okay," he said, reaching over and tentatively patting her on the shoulder. Before he could withdraw his hand, the witch slid closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug.

"Yes, it will be," she said, drawing back and bravely meeting his gaze. "We'll be just like Sirius and Remus and your father. No matter what happens, we'll always be friends."

Harry returned her wide smile with a small grin, silently pondering the witch's optimism. "What about Ron?" He asked, rising and pacing to the attic window. He rested his hands on the sill as he stared out into the night, allowing the visible sliver of moon to soothe him. Despite the conviction in her tone, he wondered if she'd be saying the same thing in five days time, when they were back at Hogwarts amidst their schoolmates.

"Oh, Ron can just go fuck himself," Hermione said with a dismissive flutter of one hand.

Harry's mouth fell open at the witch's language, a startled laugh escaping him. Giving his head a light shake, he sighed heavily and walked back to the cot, flopping down gracelessly next to Hermione. "Do you really think it will be that easy, 'Mione?" He wondered out loud, turning his head to peer sadly up at the witch.

Hermione returned Harry's sad stare, giving a small shake of her head. "No, I don't," she answered truthfully.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "Neither do I," he mumbled. For a moment, the pair sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Harry's soft chuckle that broke the silence, his eyes opening to meet Hermione's curious gaze. "I may not have Ron, but there's always Malfoy. He'll never be able to leave this one alone."

With a delighted laugh, Hermione rose. "That's the way, Harry, think positive thoughts," she returned jovially, crossing cautiously to the attic stairs. Halting with a hand on the wall, she peered back through the shadows at the wizard's still form, a small smile playing across her lips. "Goodnight, Harry." She shook her head at his wave of farewell and slipped quietly down the stairs, the attic door closing softly behind her.

His eyes still closed, Harry tracked the witch's path with his ears, the rhythmic patter of her feet taking her all the way to the bedchamber she was sharing with Ginny on the second floor. He was able to hear the redheaded witch's voice rising in greeting, but unable to determine exactly what passed between the pair as they readied themselves for bed. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he rolled over onto his stomach and curled his arms beneath his head, listening wearily as Grimmauld Place fell silent.

It was really too early to even guess at what would happen when they returned to Hogwarts. And Harry had only one chance to prove he could control not only himself, but the wolf currently residing within his head. Praying that he would master the beast by then, Harry closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, his last thoughts of a blond haired Slytherin who knew more than he should.

* * *

A/n: Thank you for the wonderful reviews, and my apologies for the long wait.


	4. Hermione's Conspiracy Theory

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Four - Hermione's Conspiracy Theory

* * *

Harry woke to the babble of excited voices and the smell of burning toast, neither of which was appreciated. Cracking one eye open, he levered himself up on an elbow and glared at the window and the bright light streaming through its dirty glass. With a muted groan, he flopped back onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, feeling like he hadn't slept in days. The heavy tread of approaching feet on the third floor opened his eyes and turned his head in the direction of the attic stairwell, his emerald orbs narrowing as his nose twitched.

"Get up, Harry!" Ron hollered, pounding loudly on the door at the base of the stairs. He didn't bother to wait for a response of any kind, fleeing back towards the safety of the kitchen as soon as his message was delivered.

Against his will, Harry's lips curled in disgust; the redhead was acting for all the world like an ignorant pureblood. Rolling fluidly from the cot, he straightened, stretching his arms above his head. He scratched his chest lazily and fought down a yawn, listening to the chaos occurring downstairs. Shortly after eleven o'clock they were due at Kings Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express, and their subsequent departure had sent the house into a state of turmoil. The thought of returning to Hogwarts was almost enough to make Harry groan.

Fighting down a grimace of distaste, he ruffled his hair and strode toward his trunk, tossing back the lid and peering into its shadowy depths. With little thought, he dragged the first clean shirt from the jumble of books and quills and yanked it over his head, returning for a pair of reasonably clean trousers. After securing the last button, he bumped the lid closed and flipped the latches, scanning the narrow room for anything he'd forgotten to pack last night.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry cringed at Molly Weasley's shrill cry, glancing unconsciously in the direction of the shout. Rolling his eyes, he bent and hefted the trunk onto his shoulder, bearing its weight easily. With one last look around the attic, he turned and headed downstairs, clunking loudly down the narrow steps. He deposited his trunk in the pile in the foyar before proceeding to the kitchen, listening to the loud mumbles drifting down the corridor as he approached the swinging door.

His expression grew grim at the audible grumbles, his eyes narrowing at the sneer in Ron's voice as he spoke to Hermione. Fingers curling, Harry breezed into the kitchen, halting just inside the doorway. At his sudden appearance, Ron's mouth snapped closed, the redhead's gaze dropping quickly to his plate. Carefully, the dark-haired wizard unclenched his fingers and accepted the plate Molly held out to him, forcing his eyes away from the top of Ron's head. "Thank you," he murmured politely to the witch, pulling out the chair directly across from Hermione. Although the bushy-haired witch offered him a tentative smile, he could see the glassy shimmer of tears in her eyes. The growl that vibrated his throat was cut off when the back door swung open and Remus stepped into the room, his amber eyes landing unfailingly on Harry.

"Good, you're all up," the older werewolf said briskly, his gaze still locked on the raven-haired male. He gave a faint shake of his head before moving toward the kitchen table, nodding in thanks to Molly as she pressed a cup of coffee into his cold hands. "There are a few things we need to speak about before we leave, the most important of which is the fact that Harry is now a werewolf. That information is to go no further than this house." His tone brooked no argument.

"You're not actually letting him come back to Hogwarts, are you?" Ron asked, sounding completely aghast at the very thought. Blinking wide eyes, the redhead glanced in the direction of his mother, obviously waiting for her to reassure them that Harry was, indeed, not returning to school.

Molly turned away from her son's pleading gaze in pretense of cleaning the counter, her shoulders visibly taunt and her voice heavy with emotion. "Why wouldn't Harry be returning to Hogwarts, Ron? He's still an enrolled student and has every right to an education, even if he is a werewolf."

"That's right," Remus said, his amber orbs locked on the redhead. His left brow lifted when the younger wizard opened his mouth to protest, but a soft snarl from the far end of the table silenced Ron before he had a chance to speak. "Enough," Remus said, shooting a warning glance down the table. "As long as Voldemort is looking for him, the safest place for Harry to be is with Dumbledore. We all know, however, that werewolves aren't tolerated at Hogwarts. And, if the Wizarding World somehow finds out that Harry Potter's a werewolf . . . well, the reaction won't be good. Do we all see the problem?"

"What are you planning on doing?" Hermione asked quietly, her solemn gaze focused on Remus.

"The Unbreakable Vow," Remus replied softly, placing his wand on the table. He was shaking his head before Ron had a chance to argue. "The Vow has already been administered to everyone else who knows. The three of you," he murmured, nodding his head at the trio, "Are the only ones left to do."

Ron's chair clattered to the floor as he shot to his feet. "I'm not doing it," he yelped. "You can't expect me to share a dorm room with him either! There's no way I'm living with a werewolf! And Dean, Seamus, and Neville have a right to know what they're living-"

"Sit down, Ronald Weasley!" Molly yelled, her face a bright shade of red as she glared at her son. Drawing a deep breath, the witch planted her hands on her hips, chin jutting upwards. "This is for the best, Ron."

Mouth closing, the redhead stared at his mother in shock. He opened his mouth to try again but snapped his jaw closed when the witch widened her eyes in warning, taking a step toward him threateningly. "Whatever," he muttered, picking his chair up and then flopping onto it.

Eyes wary, Remus reached for his wand, gesturing that the trio take hands with the glowing tip. He watched closely as Hermione laid her hand atop Harry's, frowning when Ron tentatively rested his fingers on top of the witch's. Gently, he placed the point of his wand on the trio's stacked hands, his eyes lifting to meet Harry's for one brief moment before they returned to the unsteady pile.

"Do the three of you, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter, promise not to divulge anything that occurred here at Grimmauld Place to anyone?" His gaze followed the fiery line that crept from the tip of his wand, watching cautiously as it wrapped itself around the hands and wrists of the trio.

"I do," Hermione said firmly, her chin lifting proudly as she made the declaration.

Harry's chin dipped, his gaze locked on the hands resting on top of his. "I do," he said. He jumped slightly when the line of red magic tightened, his gaze leaping to Hermione's even as the thing inside his head told him to be wary.

"I suppose." Ron agreed grudgingly.

Lips tightening at the redhead's less than satisfactory response, Remus continued, "Do you all agree not to breathe a word to anyone outside the Order of the Phoenix that Harry Potter is a werewolf?"

"Of course," Hermione agreed quickly, her eyes narrowing on the redheaded wizard as he gave a faint shake of his head. "Come on, Ron," she hissed softly, her fingers tightening around Harry's as the dark-haired wizard growled softly.

Ron's head snapped up at the quiet growl, his blue eyes widening at the glowing emeralds focused completely on him. "I agree," he muttered, pushing his chair back so he was as far away from Harry as possible without removing his hand from the pile. The fiery ribbons encircling his wrist flared, the magic stretching further up his arm until it coiled around his elbow threateningly.

"I do," Harry said, his orbs locked on Ron.

With a powerful pulse, the magic binding vanished, and the trio yanked their hands back as if they'd been burnt. Sighing in relief, Remus withdrew his wand and leaned back in his chair. "Well done," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.

"Everyone will be arriving soon to escort us to Kings Cross," Molly informed the group, the sound of her voice breaking the staring match going on between the two wizards. "If there's anything you haven't packed, go and see to it." She may as well have yelled that the kitchen was on fire, because the room emptied in seconds. Her gaze shifted from the swinging kitchen door to Remus, her lips firming as she glared unhappily at the wizard. "I don't like this, Remus. I don't like it at all." That said, the redheaded witch stormed from the kitchen, leaving Remus to stare into his cold coffee.

* * *

Harry stood silently next to Remus, shouldering deeper into his heavy cloak as snow drifted down around them. His gaze swept the platform, noting the few remaining students standing with their parents, the majority having boarded the Hogwarts Express in search of seating. He slid his eyes to Remus when the older wizard shifted, the calm expression he wore belying the turmoil he so obviously felt. Scuffing restlessly at the concrete platform with the toe of his boot, Harry waited for the speech he was sure was coming.

Casting a surreptitious look around, Remus turned to face Harry, staring down at the dark-haired male with wary eyes. "I want you to be on your best behaviour. Absolutely no fighting, at all. I don't care how much of a ponce Malfoy is, or how rude he may be to Hermione or you, just ignore him. In fact, it might be best if you avoid Malfoy all together. You have to remember you're stronger than your peers now, Harry, you could hurt them without even thinking about it. Keep your temper, and for Merlin's sake, no growling!"

Harry lifted a brow at that last addition to Remus' spiel. "So, use my words and not my fists?" He questioned, barely avoiding the eye roll that came so naturally with the sarcasm.

Expression darkening, Remus reached out and laid a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, his fingers tightening in warning. "This isn't a joking matter," he hissed angrily. "You could seriously injure someone with a single punch. If that happens, there's nothing Dumbledore or I could do to help you. Do you understand, Harry? Don't screw this up!"

Harry was barely able to conceal his surprise at the harsh command. Dipping his shoulder, he slid out from under Remus' hand, taking a long stride to put himself beyond the older male's reach. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, tension mounting as the silence lengthened. The train's piercing whistle shredded the silence, causing both wizards to jump and shoot narrow eyed glares at the Hogwarts Express. "I understand, Remus," he murmured finally, his gaze returning to the older male.

Drawing a deep breath, Remus nodded his head, the tension draining from his shoulders. "Good, Harry, that's good. Just remember to trust yourself, no matter what that thing - that wolf - inside your head tells you, trust yourself." The pair stood there awkwardly, shifting their weight as they watched the few remaining students clamber aboard the train. Parents called tearful and cheerful goodbyes, waving almost frantically at their departing children.

"I should probably go," Harry whispered, taking a step in the direction of the train.

Remus reached out suddenly and pulled the raven-haired youth into his arms, pinning him in place as he whispered into his ear, "When the full moon comes, go and see Snape. And for the love of Merlin, Harry, take the potion." He released the dark-haired wizard and took a quick step back, jamming his hands into the pockets of his dark coat.

"I thought you'd be there," Harry said, feeling suddenly lost. No matter how angry or upset he was at Remus, there was no way in hell he wanted to go through something as traumatic as changing into a wolf by himself. Lifting his chin, he stared into amber orbs, trying to read the emotion hidden within them. "Promise me you'll be there." Even to his own ears, the plea sounded desperate.

"I don't think I can," Remus said, looking past Harry toward the train.

Harry inhaled sharply and straightened, his chin lifting. "If you promise to be there, I'll promise to be on my best behaviour," he wheedled, leaving the rest up to Remus' imagination. If the older male didn't take the deal, he'd worry constantly that Harry was causing trouble and threatening the vow they'd all just made. Smiling triumphantly, the dark-haired male watched as a frustrated frown crossed Remus' face.

Knowing all his careful planning was teetering on the brink of destruction, Remus glared at Harry, his hands curling into fists. "I promise," he hissed, his eyes slitting at the smug smirk that blossomed upon the younger wizard's face. "Get on the train, Harry." The urge to pummel the dark-haired male into submission was strong, but his determination to control himself was stronger. Drawing a deep breath, he stood stoic and silent among the waving parents, his amber orbs following the path Harry cut through the crowd. Seconds after the other werewolf climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, the train huffed out of the station, its shrill whistle nearly deafening him.

* * *

High on his victory, Harry strolled down the corridor between the compartments, searching for Hermione. He exchanged greetings with several other Gryffindors and insults with a trio of Slytherins, his good mood allowing him to shrug off the caustic mutters hurled at his back. Practically humming with good cheer, he continued his seemingly aimless wandering, his nose leading him unerringly in the direction Hermione had taken.

A compartment door slid open ahead of him and Draco Malfoy stepped into the narrow hallway, his pale silver eyes brightening as they landed on Harry. A smile slowly curled his lips as he slid the door closed, turning to face the dark-haired wizard. "Potter," he sneered in greeting, widening his stance until he took up the entire corridor.

"Malfoy," Harry replied in a low growl, following the blond's example and spreading his legs until his feet almost rested against the walls of the aisle. He arched a brow when the Slytherin smiled slowly, the curl of his lips closely resembling the snarl of a wolf. Feeling his own lips peel back from his teeth, Harry tensed, remembering the promise he'd just made to Remus. His chest lifted as he took a calming breath, carefully straightening his fingers. "How were your holidays?" He asked, the polite question throwing the blond completely off guard.

Eyes narrowing, Malfoy glided forward, trailing his hands along the walls to either side of him. He halted when his chest was almost pressed against the dark-haired wizard's, his chin dipping as he glared down into Potter's upturned face. "Probably not as entertaining as yours were," he breathed, lifting his head and sliding his right foot back. "How'd loony Lupin take the news, by the way? Shocked that you'd joined the Fur and Fang Club, I'd imagine."

Harry reacted without thought. His left hand shot out, not in a punch, but a wild swipe that passed within a hair's breadth of the blond's throat. He froze with his fingers still curled, his eyes widening at the soft chuckle that spilled over the other wizard's lips.

Malfoy had moved. At the last second, he'd leaned backward, managing to avoid what surely would have been a killing blow. But he shouldn't have been able to. The speed at which he'd struck had been beyond the abilities of a normal wizard. There was no way Malfoy should have been able to move faster than him. "How-"

Widening his eyes innocently, Draco slammed his clenched fist into Harry's startled face. He smiled at the dark-haired wizard's gasp of pain, watching with interest as blood began to trickle from his broken nose. "Best be careful, Potty, another demonstration like that and you'll have everybody wondering if your pet werewolf slipped his muzzle." The blond made a moue of distaste as he glanced at his bruised knuckles, giving his hand a slight shake to try and dispel the lingering ache.

Harry opened his mouth to try again but was stopped when the compartment door behind Malfoy slid open. The pair of third year Ravenclaws that stepped into the corridor stared at him in surprise, their bright eyes taking in his bloody nose and Malfoy's presence before reaching the conclusion that the two had once again been fighting. Cringing at the holler of 'fight' that escaped the duo, he pressed the back of his hand against his nose, narrowing his eyes at Malfoy. Compartment doors crashed open up and down the length of the car, excited students spilling into the narrow aisle. His shouted name was enough to make his head pound, his emerald orbs beginning to water in sympathy.

"Quiet down!" Hermione's commanding voice brought immediate silence to the mass, all faces turning in her direction. "There's nothing to see here, so please return to your compartments and go back about your business." One foot tapping impatiently, the witch watched the crowd slowly break up, the students returning to their compartments with unhappy mumbles. As soon as the last door slid closed, she turned her gaze to the pair of wizards standing in the middle of the aisle, a single brow raising as Malfoy hissed something at Harry before storming down the corridor and exiting the car through the door at the rear. "What was that all about?" She demanded, walking quickly toward Harry and resting a hand on his chin. Her frown grew as she peered at his broken nose, assessing the damage that was slowly beginning to fix itself.

"He knows," Harry whispered, pushing Hermione's hand from his face. "Somehow he knows."

Recapturing his chin, Hermione reached for her wand. "Nonsense, Harry, how could Malfoy possibly know?" Before he had a chance to pull away from her grip, she tapped him on the end of the nose and whispered 'episkey'.

Barely suppressing a yelp of pain, the raven-haired wizard jerked away from her grasp and rubbed his straightened nose, ignoring the dribble of fresh blood that spilled from his left nostril. "He knew before the holidays. He called me a-"

Hermione slapped a hand over Harry's mouth, silencing him before he had a chance to say the word. Shooting him a glare of warning, she grabbed his hand and towed him from the car and to the next, entering the second compartment on the right. She attempted to shove him onto the seat across from hers but failed miserably. "You can't just go about saying 'werewolf', Harry. Besides, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for the entire matter."

"Like what?" Harry hissed his disbelief, digging for a handkerchief in his pocket. He pulled out a bunched up tissue and stared at it a moment before pressing it against his nose, pretending not to notice the witch's grimace of disgust.

"Like . . . well, Voldemort told Fenrir to infect you at a Death Eater meeting which Lucius Malfoy was present at. Lucius Malfoy, in turn, told Draco. There, is that reasonable enough for you?" Hermione demanded, dragging a clean handkerchief from her pocket and shoving it into Harry's hand. "Also, we're not supposed to be talking about this."

"No, we're not supposed to talk about our holidays or tell anyone outside the Order of the Phoenix that I'm a werewolf. You're in on the vow, too, which means you don't count." Harry said, taking the clean handkerchief and holding it against his nose. He shoved the bloody tissue back into pocket and sprawled out across the comfortable bench, resting the heels of his boots against the wall.

Hermione stared at Harry doubtfully, wondering if could cite his source. "I don't think that's how it works," she murmured, reaching for her book bag.

"We've already discussed this," Harry mumbled. He waved down the witch's protests and leveled a finger at his temple. "Not you and me. Me and . . . me, I guess."

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, her voice emerging as a faint whisper.

Harry shrugged his shoulder lazily, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "I'm gonna take a nap. Oh, and 'Mione, I'm not crazy or anything."

Hermione gave a light laugh and pulled a book from her bag, opening it to the page she'd read last. "That's reassuring," she said, peering over the top of the tome. She smiled at Harry's light chuckle before turning her attention to her reading. Her smile faded as she stared at the page, the words blurring before her eyes.

Remus was, arguably, a little crazy, but maybe he'd always been slightly absentminded. It was said, however, that Fenrir Greyback was completely insane, that being a werewolf had driven him mad. Perhaps insanity went hand in hand with being a werewolf. Maybe, in time, Harry would be just as crazy as Greyback and Remus. She frowned at the worrying thought, her hands tightening around her book. There was nothing one could do to prevent insanity, especially if it was a symptom of being a werewolf. A sniffle escaped her and she lifted a hand to her face, surprised to find her cheeks damp with tears. Glancing at Harry's sleeping form, she rose and placed her book on the seat, slipping from the compartment to find somewhere away from the wizard to nurse her fears.

No sooner had the door snicked closed behind Hermione then Harry's eyes popped open. He stared at the ceiling unseeing, his hands folded over his abdomen and his mind racing. Within his skull the wolf worked, assembling and discarding pieces of Malfoy's puzzle. After several minutes of rapid thought, the wolf slowed, regarding its findings and searching for any possible errors. The conclusion it reached was stupefying in its simplicity, yet mind numbing in its unlikelihood, because as far as Harry was concerned, there was no way a Pureblood supremacist like Lucius Malfoy would allow his only son and heir to be bitten by a werewolf.

But it was all there, the wolf inside his skull insisted. From his recent growth spurt to the speed he'd just demonstrated, Malfoy had all the makings of a recently turned werewolf. Harry frowned, not quite able to commit to the idea of the blond Slytherin being a werewolf. It simply wasn't possible, he told his wolf, and that was that. He'd hear nothing else about the entire insane idea. With a firm nod, he settled back down and flung an arm over his eyes, deciding a nap was just what he needed.

* * *

Harry banged through the portrait hole, his eyes blazing and his hands knotted into fists. He cast his narrowed gaze about, searching angrily for Ron, and finding him sitting in a whispered huddle with Seamus and Dean. The trio looked up at his loud entrance, their eyes widening fearfully as he stalked toward them, his lips curled back to reveal his teeth in a wolfish snarl.

They'd been back no more than three nights and already Hogwarts was abuzz with whispers that Harry Potter was a werewolf. Soft hisses that reached his ears as he walked down the corridors. Loud murmurs behind his back that even Hermione couldn't possibly deny. And there was only one person who could have started the rumours. Well, two, but it was easier to corner Ron than Malfoy - and the redhead was a lot less likely to punch him in the face than the blond.

"Weasley!" He growled, closing the distance between them in several short strides. The Common Room fell silent at his angry roar, the assembled Gryffindors holding their breath as he seized the redhead by the throat and dragged him to his feet. He gave the wizard a rough shake, ignoring the cries that slipped from the mouths of the frightened Gryffindors watching in mounting horror. "You told," he hissed into the other wizard's face, his fingers tightening dangerously.

"Harry! Let him go!" Ginny shrieked, her eyes wide as Ron's face turned a mottled shade of red.

Harry snarled savagely in the witch's direction, effortlessly lifting Ron from his feet. He slammed the redhead into the closest wall, his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of jade. He ignored the screams and shouts, barely flinching when Dean latched onto his arm and tried valiantly to free Ron. His orbs narrowed when an arm wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air supply and dragging him slowly backward. Glancing over his shoulder, he curled a lip in warning, his chest vibrating with a threatening rumble.

"Harry!" The outraged yelp breached Harry's angered conscience enough to cause him to lose his grip on Ron. The redhead collapsed to his knees and scrambled away, gasping for breath as Harry was prevented from following by the arm wrapped round his neck. With a deft twist, the dark-haired wizard freed himself, swinging around to face Hermione with an embarrassed look on his face.

Disbelief etched in every line of her face, Hermione stormed across the Common Room, grabbed him by the arm, and then dragged him up the stairs to the sixth year boys' dorms. "What were you thinking?" She whispered, pushing him into the circular room ahead of her and slamming the door. "For a start, the Unbreakable Vow prevents Ron from telling anyone about anything! And for another, how could you be so stupid?! Those were just rumours!"

Shamefaced, Harry stared at the witch, unable to come up with a reply that didn't make him look like an ass. Finally, he simply shrugged his shoulders. "I forgot about the Vow," he mumbled, which was a bald-faced lie. He cringed as the witch leapt into a lecture, her hands flying as she stomped back and forth in front of him.

Nothing could make him forget the vow, but the Wolf inside his head had thought it all through. It had added one plus one and come up with the redhead as the only possible solution. Malfoy had a lot to gain from telling everyone, but if he'd wanted to tell, he would have done it a long time ago. Harry could agree with that kind of reasoning. Ron, on the other hand, had only known for a short period of time . . . and now everyone knew. Coincidence, the wolf thought not.

A sharp rap on the door ended Hermione's lecture, turning both of them in the direction of the portal. Glancing at him with wide eyes, the witch walked quietly to door and opened it, her face paling as she looked into the dark orbs of Professor Snape. The Potions Master pushed past her, Professor McGonagall close at his heels.

"You seem to have outed yourself, Potter, quite magnificently if I may say so," Snape drawled, his wand tapping against his thigh lightly. He arched a brow at Harry's threatening growl, the tip of his wand rising until it rested against the dark-haired wizard's cheek. "You have no idea how lucky you are to be standing in this room right now. I told Albus you couldn't be trusted to remember yourself, but that mangy werewolf insisted-"

"Enough, Severus," McGonagall said, her tone chilly. Shaking her head at the Potions Master, she reached out and caught the young wizard's forearm, dragging him around Snape. "Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, Harry, immediately. Please return to your own dorm, Ms. Granger," she added as an afterthought, ushering Harry ahead of her.

Ignoring the grim expression on the face of his Head of House, Harry stalked down the stairs and through the Common Room, slowing only to curl a lip at Ron. The redhead's whimper brought a smile to his face, a smile that vanished when Snape cuffed him sharply on the back of the head. Inside his head, the wolf demanded retribution, urging him to turn around and strike the older male.

Fortunately, Harry realized that hitting Snape would most likely land him on his arse. Grimacing at the thought, he quickened his pace, putting a little more distance between himself and the Potions Master. He found the stairwell leading up to Dumbledore's office already open when he arrived, a sure sign that the Headmaster was expecting him. Tossing a glance over his shoulder at Snape, Harry began the long climb upward, fighting down the rising fear that the Professor would send him back to Grimmauld Place. His knuckles had barely brushed the door in a nervous knock when Dumbledore bid him enter, the older wizard sounding extremely weary.

Slinking around the door, he locked his eyes on the toes of his boots and scuffed his way across the room, not daring to meet Dumbledore's gaze. He bit his bottom lip as he slipped into the chair in front of the older wizard, locking his hands together in his lap before chancing a peek at the Headmaster. There was no cheerful offer of tea and a lemon drop, instead, Dumbledore regarded him steadily over the rim of his glasses, his hands folded before him on his desk.

"Harry, my boy, I was hoping you'd be a bit more discrete," the old wizard said quietly. He settled heavily into his chair, pulling his glasses from his nose and rubbing his tired eyes. With a soft sigh, he replaced the lenses and glanced over Harry's shoulder, watching as Severus entered the room.

Eagerness practically wafting from him, Snape halted to the left of Harry and sneered down at the younger wizard before shifting his attention to Dumbledore. "Should I inform Lupin of Mister Potter's immediate return to Number 12?" He asked, sounding delighted at the very prospect of giving Remus the bad news. The triumphant expression he wore vanished at the Headmaster's headshake, his mouth almost falling open in surprise. "But surely you're not-"

"Only the Gryffindors were present for Harry's . . . dramatics?" Dumbledore questioned softly, pushing his chair back from his desk and rising stiffly.

Snape's eyes narrowed, his fingers clenching in the folds of the dark robes he wore. "The incident did occur in the Gryffindor Common Room but-"

"Then I'll deal with it, Severus," the Headmaster said firmly, his meaning clear in the slight swish of his wand. His gray brows arched when the Potions Master sputtered, a small smile gracing his lips. "In the mean time, please escort Harry to the chambers the House Elves have prepared for him on the fourth floor. The password, I believe, is 'serendipity'." With a final promising look at Harry, he walked from the room, his shoulders heavy with the deed he was about to perform.

"So close, eh, Professor?" Harry remarked, tipping his head to avoid the back of Snape's hand.

Fuming, Snape spun around and stormed toward the door. "Shut up, Potter," he hissed angrily, gritting his teeth at the light laugh that rose in his wake. Hands fisted at his sides, he muttered unhappily about the unfairness of life as he led Dumbledore's Golden Boy to his newly renovated chambers.

* * *

A/n: Sorry for the long wait. And as always, thank you for the lovely reviews that kept me writing. Chapter Five is almost complete, lacking only several minor parts before I'll be able to consider it finished.


	5. Caged

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Five - Caged

* * *

By lunchtime Friday afternoon, everyone at Hogwarts knew Harry Potter had been given his own suite of rooms. The reason for the move hadn't been disclosed, and thus, was open to speculation. Gossip was rampant, though, and already the rumours were flying faster than a bad case of Wizard Pox. What there wasn't, however, was a single whisper about the incident that had occurred in the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry assumed that meant Dumbledore had waved his wand and wiped the Gryffindors memories clean.

With a sigh, he dropped his chin into his palm, glaring across the Great Hall at Draco Malfoy. The blond was easily ignoring him, his entire attention seemingly focused on the plate sitting before him. Curling a lip, the dark-haired wizard stabbed his fork into the last sausage on his plate, pretending not to notice the elbow Hermione dug into his side. After a long night of thinking - and a very stern lecture from both McGonagall and Dumbledore - he had come to the conclusion that Draco Malfoy was indeed the manufacturer of the werewolf rumours. Not that that meant he'd be apologizing to Ron anytime in the near future.

"You coming, Harry?" Dean asked loudly from the other side of Hermione, gesturing at the retreating forms of Seamus and Ron. The wizard held a piece of toast in one hand and his History of Magic text in the other, a sure sign that the group was heading to class.

"I'll be right behind you," Harry said, pushing the last piece of sausage around his plate. His eyes shifted from Malfoy to Dean, watching silently as the other Gryffindor strolled from the Hall, undoubtedly internally rallying and re-engineering another way to make Harry and Ron interact. It had obviously been decided by the Gryffindor sixth years that the rift between Ron and Harry could be fixed by constantly forcing the pair into close contact. So far, the theory had resulted in several loud arguments and a number of physical altercations that generally landed the pair in detention. Nevertheless, the group believed it was only a matter of time before some form of understanding was reached between the duo. Harry hoped none of them were holding their breath.

Hermione stirred beside him, a frown pinching her features as she turned to look at him. "You are going to class, right?" She asked suspiciously, picking up the book bag that had been resting between her feet.

Her question wasn't exactly unfounded, as Harry had yet to make an appearance at any of his morning classes. "Probably not," he replied truthfully before shoveling the syrup soaked sausage into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his gaze unconsciously returning to the section of the Slytherin table occupied by Malfoy and his cronies. His mouth stilled at finding the blond's silver eyes locked on him, his fingers tightening around his fork. The growl that trembled in his throat went unheard by the group seated around him, the excited chatter covering the quiet sound.

"Harry," Hermione murmured, her tone thick with disapproval.

Not feeling any particular need to defend himself, Harry simply lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. Technically, it wasn't his fault he'd skipped Potions and Divinations. Nope, the blame for that infraction could be laid solely on the head of the wolf. Since the moment he'd opened his eyes this morning, the animal had been at the front of his mind, growling and snapping like a wounded animal. Of course, the reason for its agitated state was as clear as the little full moon in the corner of his agenda. And frankly, he was starting to get a headache from its maddened baying.

"I think a nap's in order," Harry decided aloud, ignoring the look Hermione attempted to pin him with. He slung a leg over the bench and rose, waiting for the witch to join him before strolling toward the double doors. As they went to part ways in the hallway, Hermione's hand locked around his forearm, impeding the escape he was about to make. "What? I'm tired and I have a long night ahead of me," he said in a whisper, turning to face the witch.

At the hissed explanation, Hermione paled, her finger's loosening enough to allow the wizard to pull his arm free. She darted a quick look around before leaning into Harry, all censure having vanished at the reminder of what he was going to have to endure that night. "Are you okay?"

"Bit of a headache, but fine other than that," the dark-haired wizard said. He smiled and gave the witch a reassuring pat on the arm. "I'll catch up with you later." With a farewell flick of his fingers, he fled, heading for the safety of his room.

Ten minutes later he was sprawled across the comfortable sofa before the little fireplace in his new quarters, surveying the room with pursed lips. Done in a soothing shade of nutmeg brown, the suite consisted of a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small living area. It was also blissfully quiet. With a wide yawn, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying inhaling air free of the cloying scents usually present in the Gryffindor Common Room. Here, there was no sickly sweet perfume to burn his nostrils. Nor was there any hint of aftershave applied so heavily he could taste it upon his tongue. Slumping into a more comfortable position, he tucked an arm behind his head and settled in for an afternoon nap.

Several hours later he cracked an eye open and stared groggily at the ceiling. He flinched when the little clock hanging on the wall began to chirp, the mellow dongs counting off the hours that had passed while he slept. Absently, he counted each bong, his eyes widening when the last hollow tone filled the small chamber. His gaze darted anxiously to the window, his body tensing at the purple and pink stripes highlighting the slowly darkening sky. Swallowing, he swung his feet to the ground and stood, glancing at the clock to confirm the time before striding quickly toward the door.

The moon would be full soon, perhaps not within this hour, but definitely within the next. He had just enough time to check in with Hermione before he'd have to report to Snape, a thought that had snitches winging around his growling stomach. Jogging through the corridors, he made his way up to the Gryffindor Common Room, ignoring the handful of students he encountered en route.

He felt only a moment's confusion when he stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room and found Hermione absent, the chair she usually occupied empty. Brow furrowing, he ambled further into the chamber, his gaze sweeping over the scarlet couches and walnut desks in search of the witch. Finally, after accepting the fact she wasn't in the spacious room, he strode to the bottom of the stairs that led to the girls' dormitories and called her name.

Just as he was opening his mouth to repeat his cry, Lavender Brown appeared at the top of the stairs in a swish of purple bathrobe, her eyes narrowed and her hair in curlers. Planting a hand on her hip, the witch glowered down at him, her lips pressed tightly together. "She's gone to the library," she informed him briskly, giving him one last glare before whirling around and vanishing from sight.

Unable to keep from shaking his head in disgust, Harry turned on his heel and left the Gryffindor dorms, nearly hitting Dean in the face with the Fat Lady's portrait as he exited. He ignored the wizard's outraged yelp in favour of jogging down the stairs before they changed position, slowing only when he reached the landing at the bottom. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolled lazily toward the library, ignoring the handful of students who crossed his path.

At six o'clock on a Friday night, the library was practically deserted, which by all rights it should have been. Only the diehards would willingly spend their free time cooped up in the library surrounded by books, especially on a night when there were so many other things they could be doing. To Harry, spending a free night in the library was something akin to a nightmare, but if that's where Hermione was, that's where he'd be.

After spooking a pair of third year Hufflepuffs snogging in a corner and a snoozing Ravenclaw, Harry finally stumbled across Hermione. The witch was seated upon the floor surrounded by open books, a Quick Quotes Quill hovering at her shoulder dutifully recording everything she said. Resting his hip against a nearby desk, he quietly observed the witch, smiling at her enthusiasm as her attention leapt from book to book, her fingers nimbly turning pages and running over dainty script. When she straightened and raised a hand to rub the back of her neck, he shifted, the movement drawing the witch's focus from her studies.

"Harry," she said excitedly, waving him forward with a wiggle of her fingers, "Come see what I found." Practically bouncing up and down where she sat, she quickly shoved a pile of unopened books aside, clearing a spot for the wizard to sit next to her.

Trying to appear just as excited as she was, and undoubtedly failing, the raven-haired wizard walked to where she sat and dropped liquidly to his haunches. His brows lifted as he scanned the titles of the texts, very unsurprised to find all of them somehow relating to werewolves or other such creatures. "Keeping busy, 'Mione?" He asked teasingly, lifting one of the unopened books from the pile and idly paging through it.

Face reddening, Hermione shrugged her shoulders and snatched the book from Harry's hands, placing it carefully back in the stack of books she hadn't yet read. "Something like that," she murmured, returning her attention to the tomes spread before her. Her brow furrowed as her gaze shifted from book to book, finally, with a sigh, she reached for the notepad floating above her shoulder. After quickly flipping through several pages filled with small notes, she halted, and then dragged one of the larger books into her lap. "I found something I think you'll find very interesting," the witch mumbled, her eyes locked on the numbers in the corners of the pages as she searched for a certain paragraph.

Arching a brow, Harry leaned back on his hands, his expression turning doubtful. "If you think so," he said, unable to keep from sounding disbelieving. He gave an apologetic lift of his shoulders at the glare the witch shot him, his eyes absently sweeping the corner of the library they inhabited.

"Here," Hermione said, directing his attention to a lengthy paragraph with the tip of her finger. Not bothering to wait for him to begin reading the section by himself, she began to read aloud, "The mating of two werewolves will, most commonly, result in the birth of offspring which are abnormally powerful and possess traits not generally found in Bitten werewolves. Offspring of such a mating are considered 'Pureblooded' by the werewolf community and held in the highest regard. One of the unusual powers found in Pureblood werewolves is the ability to infect individuals while still in human form. However, the product of such a union is extremely rare due to a lack of sufficient breeding partners in the werewolf population. In the few recorded instances, individuals bitten by a Pureblood werewolf are stronger than the average werewolf, having greater speed, stamina, and sometimes, the unique ability to control the Change."

Harry stared at Hermione blankly. "And?" He said after a moment's hesitation, wondering silently what the witch was getting at.

"Don't you get it, Harry?" Hermione said in a frustrated hiss. "That boy wasn't bitten, he was bred. If Voldemort wanted you infected, he could have sent any werewolf out to infect you. Instead, he sent a little boy who might just be the first Pureblood werewolf in two centuries out to do the job. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"

"Do you realize you just accused Voldemort of having a five-year plan?" Harry asked in return. Before the witch could refute him, he shook his head and raised a hand, halting any further argument. "At this point, Hermione, I'm not even sure Voldemort's behind this. It all seems a little to . . . thought out."

"This isn't just some random occurrence!" Hermione snapped, defending what she considered a credible argument. "That boy was sent to Hogsmeade specifically to infect you."

"Don't you think I've realized that?" Harry said angrily. He snatched the book out of her lap and closed it with an echoing thud, ignoring her murmur of protest as he tossed it lightly beyond her reach. "What's done is done, Hermione. I'm a werewolf. There's nothing you or I or anyone can do about it. No amount of research is going to save me. Just let it be, please," he finished in a soft plea, the words hitting home harder than he would have imagined possible.

Seeing his obvious distress, Hermione gave a reluctant nod, her fingers knotting together as she stared at the books laying open before her. "Are you scared?" She asked in a whisper, beginning to flip the nearest books closed. Her hands shook slightly as she worked to stack the tomes into a reasonably organized pile, chancing a glance at the raven-haired wizard out of the corner of her eye as she moved.

"Terrified," Harry admitted on a sigh. He straightened the pile of books beside him, not daring to glance at the witch. "But Remus promised me he'd be there."

Hermione brightened at that bit of good news. "That's wonderful, Harry," she said in a rush, "At least you won't be alone. I was thinking about researching the Animagus charm, just in case-"

Harry reached out and caught Hermione's hand, shaking his head as soon as he had the witch's complete attention. "No, 'Mione. I don't want you getting hurt because of me. You're my friend - my only friend - and I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. If you became infected . . ."

Appearing unconvinced, Hermione frowned, her hands stilling on the books she was straightening. "I suppose you're right," she replied slowly, noting the flash of relief that crossed the dark-haired wizard's face before he managed to hide it. "When are you going down to see Snape?" She asked, deciding a change of subject was needed.

"I should probably head down now," Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding like he'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail wandless and in nothing but his boxers. He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the books beside him, lining the spines up perfectly.

With a sigh, Hermione grabbed up her papers and shoved them into her book bag. "I'll walk down with you," she offered, swinging the bag up onto her shoulder before gathering an armful of texts and standing. She watched as Harry followed her example, tipping her head when he rose and leading him toward the shelves she had selected most of the books from. Her lips curved when he offered no protest, his silence telling her he would welcome the escort. They left the library and walked in silence down the corridor, heading in the direction of the dungeon stairwell.

"You'll be all right?" Harry asked, glancing at Hermione who paced along beside him.

With a soft laugh, Hermione nodded her head. "I'll be fine, Harry. I can survive without you for three days. Besides, I plan on going shopping in Hogsmeade with Luna and Ginny tomorrow afternoon," she said, doing her best to reassure the raven-haired wizard. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, noting that he'd grown sightly more agitated since leaving the Gryffindor dorms. Frowning, the witch slowed, her attention on the dark stairwell that led down into the bowels of Hogwarts. At the first stair she stopped, turning to face Harry, her gaze assessing. "Will you be okay?"

Swallowing, Harry nodded, his hands curling into fists. "Remus promised he'd be there," he murmured, more to remind himself than the witch. In his head, the wolf howled eagerly, its presence growing. Attempting to ignore the beast slowly wrapping itself around his mind, he drew a deep breath and began to descend into the dungeons, pausing only once to glance back to where Hermione stood. He forced a smile at her tentative wave, his nails biting into the stone of the banister. "I'll see you later, Hermione."

"Bye, Harry," Hermione called, her hand falling as the dark-haired wizard disappeared into the heavy shadows below. She stood there for several seconds, staring into the darkness before glancing nervously about her and then swinging around, heading quickly back to the safety of Gryffindor Tower.

Walking slowly along the main dungeon corridor, Harry drew a deep breath and tried to calm himself, failing miserably. He didn't want to do this. Merlin, he didn't even want to think about doing this. Almost against his will, his strides shortened, his body breaking out in a cold sweat as fear swamped him. He didn't want to turn into a mindless animal that murdered mercilessly.

Drawing another deep breath, he unclenched his fingers and forced his rebelling body to continue on. He had to do this. With a firm nod, he lifted his chin and squared his jaw; he would do this. Halting before the door of Snape's office, he lifted a fist and gave a sharp rap, waiting patiently for the Potions Master to allow him entrance. His senses seemed to sharpen as he stood in the shadows of the dungeon, his ears picking up the soft whispers seeping through the wood of Snape's door.

Frowning, he tipped his head, trying to determine the identities of the individuals who belonged to the vaguely familiar voices. Unfortunately, the door was opened before his ears could process the murmurs, his eyes widening at the sight of Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt flanking Severus Snape.

_Trap_, the wolf imprisoned in his head snarled.

Harry hesitated at the angered declaration, his body tensing even as his weight shifted in preparation for flight. He stayed frozen in the doorway, his gaze leaping nervously from one wizard to the next. Within his mind, the wolf began to analyze, attempting to determine the quickest route from the castle and the simplest method of preventing the three men from following.

_Death_, it breathed counter seconds later, curling Harry's hands into claws and baring his blunt teeth in a fierce growl.

"Seems he's an early turner," Moody observed from the left of Snape, the tip of his wand held level with Harry's sternum. His magic eye rolled around inside its socket, peering upwards toward the night sky hidden by the walls of Hogwarts.

"Hmm," Snape agreed from behind the relatively safe width of his desk. He spared an idle glance at the clock hanging on the far wall, one dark brow lifting slightly; the moon wasn't due to rise for another forty minutes. Sighing, he closed the book that he'd been studying and rose, gesturing Shacklebolt and Moody toward Potter. "Let's get on with it, I have marking to do," he said, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieving the vial that rested atop a pile of parchment.

Seeing the pair move purposefully toward him, Harry took a step backwards, shooting an anxious glance over his shoulder as he shifted. His moment of inattention cost him, allowing the pair of burly Order members to grab him, halting his retreat. "Let go," he snapped, ignoring the panicky tremble in his voice. He tried to pull away from Moody, jerking roughly against the Auror's hold on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Potter," Shacklebolt ordered, tightening his grip on Harry's arm. The strength he was exerting to hold the younger wizard in place was obvious by the expression on his face, his features strained as the dark-haired wizard jerked against his grip.

Inside his skull, the wolf screamed betrayal. It fought ruthlessly against Harry's hold on their shared body, demanding the wizard allow it its freedom. Because only it, the wolf breathed, could deal true justice. It would feel no grief or anguish over the deaths of the three wizards, only a sense of deserved rightness for their treachery. The wizard's sought to trap them, and that pissed the wolf off. Harry was unwilling to admit he shared the wolf's sentiments.

"Where's Remus?" The dark-haired wizard growled, narrowing his emerald orbs at Snape's approach. His gaze dropped to the vial the Potions Master held, his efforts to escape growing decidedly more desperate. He tugged away from Shacklebolt and then planted an elbow in the wizard's side when he was forced to take a step to regain his balance, slamming him against the dungeon wall.

The wolf sensed freedom and added its considerable strength to Harry's, giving him the power to slip the groaning Auror's grasp. Before either Harry or the wolf had a chance to react, a hand grabbed their chin and forced their mouth open, allowing Snape to dump the contents of the vial down their throat. Coughing at the foul taste, Harry scowled up at the wizard, his eyes blazing with a feral light. "Where is Remus?" He spat, the question emerging as a drawn out rumble.

Easily interpreting the sound, Snape smiled and slipped the empty vial into his pocket. "Lupin had important business to take care of that took him from the country. He sends his most sincere regrets and apologies, I'm sure." Turning his dark eyes to Shacklebolt, he watched with an arched brow as the Auror hauled himself slowly to his feet. He gave a disgusted shake of his head at the Order member's pained grimace, his gaze returning to Harry. "Need I remind you of your promise to Dumbledore, Potter? One more stupid stunt like that and you'll spend the rest of your school year collared and caged. Now, if you're quite finished with your juvenile tantrum, follow me." Shooting a warning glance at Moody, Snape swept from his office and glided down the shadowed hallway, not bothering to make sure the strange trio were following.

Teeth clenched, Harry allowed himself to be half-carried half-dragged down the corridor, his attention focused on pacifying the angered wolf residing within him. If they hadn't been occupying the same body, its threats probably would have caused him to wet his pants and cry for his mummy. Fortunately, they were bound together tighter than a wand and its core. He was jerked from his thoughts by Snape's unhappy mumbles; the Potions Master having stopped before a door made to resemble the stone wall to either side of it.

"And this, Potter, will be your home for the next three days and nights," Snape announced, pushing the door open and entering the small room. He waved his wand at the sconce on the wall, lighting the candle sitting in the bracket. The faint glow it produced allowed him to observe the perfectly empty space, because that's all it was: an empty space. Narrow, with not a single piece of furniture or ornamentation save the candle holder, the chamber was exactly what it appeared: a cell. A temporary cage that could withstand the strength and anger of a fully turned werewolf.

Harry stared around the chamber with mounting dread, the room reminding him too much of one he'd once occupied a very long time ago. His eyes widened when Shacklebolt gave him an unfriendly push forward, sending him stumbling into the cell. He whirled around in time to watch the door close behind Snape, the clank of the bolt ringing in his ears. A scraping sound heralded the opening of a small hatch near the top of the door, Snape's nearly black eyes the only part of his face visible through the narrow slot.

"The house elves shall see you're given everything you need," the Potions Master calmly informed the younger male. He stared at the raven-haired wizard a moment longer before sliding the hatch closed and departing, leaving Harry completely alone in a forgotten part of the dungeons.

Unable to believe what had just happened, Harry reached for the wolf, and found the spot it generally inhabited curiously empty. It was . . . gone. The sensation was strange, as was the silence in his mind. There were no growled threats or keen observations. There wasn't even a ripple of secondary thought. He wasn't given a chance to contemplate the meaning of the wolf's disappearance, a sudden spasm in his stomach causing him to double over and retch.

Fire flared within his veins. His muscles burned and his jaw ached, the sickening crack of bones filling his ears. He opened his mouth around a scream of agony, the shriek emerging as a pained wail. His knees gave out, spilling him to the floor where he curled into a ball, feeling like his intestines were being ripped from his belly. He was unable to hold back the high-pitched whimper of pain that crawled from his throat, the sound stabbing at his ringing ears. Every inch of his body burned, the sensation causing him to writhe helplessly upon the cold stones of the dungeon floor. Through the mind-numbing pain, he realized this was it - the change. In seconds, he would be a werewolf.

And then it was over, the wash of pain ending as quickly as it had begun, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath on the floor. He opened his eyes slowly and stared at the cell wall, the subtle ache in his muscles the only reminder of the agony he'd just endured. Tentatively, he flexed his fingers, the movement feeling strangely alien. Drawing a deep breath, he lowered his gaze, his eyes widening at the sight of the massive paw he now bore in place of a hand.

Excitement and curiousity shot through him, the emotions urging him to his feet in a rush of adrenaline. He awkwardly scrambled to his feet, nearly landing on his nose in his rush to stand. Finally, after carefully planting all four paws, he stood, albeit shakily. Tipping his head, he glanced back over his shoulder, studying the body he now inhabited. Much to his pleasure, the form he had taken was that of an actual wolf, and not that of the gaunt creature he had once watched Remus transform into.

Thick fur the colour of pitch covered him from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, shielding him from the cool air that whistled through the crack beneath the door. He took a cautious step forward, and then another, growing accustomed to the feeling of having four feet. Soon, he was pacing liquidly back and forth, his body nearly humming with restrained energy and power. He wagged his tail and cocked his ears, delighting in each new sensation.

In the wolf's body, his already heightened senses were even stronger. He could hear each thump of his heart, hear the blood pushing through his veins. He could even hear the house elves in the kitchen arguing over tomorrow's menu. The wind whistling under the cell door tickled his nose, bringing him the smell of musty air and damp stone and stale water. And his eyes could easily discern every crack in the mortar of the walls that contained him - in the dark.

The novelty, however, wore off quickly.

The cell that he occupied was no bigger than a broom closet. There was no room to stretch his legs, no room to run or play; he could only walk six short strides forward before encountering the door. In a bid to escape, he dug almost desperately at the stone portal, his nails leaving shallow gouges in the heavy brick. Disheartened, he threw back his head and howled. The sad wail did nothing but sting his sensitive ears. Tail drooping, he flopped to the floor and curled into a ball, nearly undone by the fact that he had three nights of this lonely existence to get through.

With nothing better to do, he thought. He thought a lot. To be precise, he had exactly three full nights and two whole days in which to think. The only time his thinking was interrupted was when one of the house elves brought him food, and that interruption generally lasted no longer than the length of time it took him to swallow the vial of Wolfsbane Potion he was ordered to drink.

By the end of the third night, Harry had come to the sad conclusion that one more night of silent loneliness could kill him. Perhaps, if Remus had of been there with him, it wouldn't have been so bad. But he'd been left alone, forced to endure a solitude neither man nor wolf was designed to endure. Merlin help him, because he couldn't live like this. Like a caged rat . . . or an abandoned dog at the pound - unwanted. As that thought slid through his mind, his gut clenched and his blood began to boil, his three nights of isolation drawing to an end.

* * *

Huddled against the damp stone of the dungeon wall, Harry shivered, goosebumps rising along the pale flesh of his arms. The unwavering darkness pressed in on him, no longer held at bay by the quivering light of the candle dancing in the candelabra. He drew his legs tighter against his chest, his chin resting on his upraised knees. His closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the musty air. The echoing sound of approaching footfalls opened his eyes, turning his face toward the cell door. A bright light became visible through the rectangular window in the stone panel, narrowing his eyes. With a resounding clank, the bolt slid aside and the door creaked open.

Chin lifting, he stared blankly at the individual standing in the doorway, the bright light produced by their wand nearly blinding him. He rose unsteadily to his feet and limped forward, reaching out to take the offered cloak while keeping his eyes averted from the brilliant glow. His fingers shook as he wrapped the woolen folds around his body, carefully fastening the row of buttons before slowly lifting his gaze. Staring straight into Remus' weary amber eyes, he whispered, "You promised." Without another word, he gathered the heavy folds closer to his body and slipped from the dungeons, his words ringing in the empty chamber.

* * *

Arms wrapped around his waist, Harry stood in the owlery, watching the sunrise over the Forbidden Forest. He was only vaguely aware of the birds occupying the cubbyholes lining the walls, his attention focused more inwards than outwards. It seemed his decision had been made for him. Days ago, he wouldn't have believed it would ever turn out this way. That Dumbledore would allow him to be confined to a closet in the dungeons. That Severus Snape would pour a potion down his unwilling throat, drowning any protest he sought to make. Or that Remus Lupin, despite the communication problems they had recently had, would . . . abandon him.

Breathing out heavily, he turned away from the sunrise, swiping a mitten over his cheeks to rid them of tears. "Hedwig," he called softly, ignoring the quaver in his voice as he searched the shadowed alcoves for the owl's snowy plumage. A soft hoot turned his head, his eyes alighting on the bird as she floated down to land gently on his proffered arm. Smiling sadly, he carried her toward the nearest window, running a light hand absently over her feathers. With his free hand, he withdrew the small piece of parchment he'd crammed into his pocket earlier, holding it aloft before Hedwig.

"This needs to go to Fenrir Greyback," he whispered, the words seeming nothing more than an innocent exhalation. In a flash, the owl seized the square of parchment and leapt into the air, rocketing higher into the sky with every dip of her wings. Harry watched her departure through unblinking eyes, his fingers wrapped around the stone lip of the windowsill. It was done. The thought was almost enough to drop him to his knees, out of sheer relief or heart-rending sadness, he didn't know. Head falling, he closed his eyes and hoped he'd made the right decision.

* * *

A/n: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review. It all begins in the next chapter . . .


	6. Chapter Six Home, Sweet

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Chapter Six - Home, Sweet . . . Dilapidated Shack?**

* * *

The porcelain tiles of the shower wall were cold against his back, a complete anthesis to the hot water pounding against the top of his head. Staring at his toes, lost in thought, Harry allowed the pounding spray to wash away three nights of filth and blood. In his head, he questioned the choice he'd just made. He had done many stupid things in his short life, but this little stunt might actually take the cake. With a heavy sigh, he pushed away from the wall and straightened, lifting his face to the warm water. The hammering spray almost managed to drown out the loud banging on the door of his rooms; an insistent knocking he'd turned a deaf ear to since it began. Just when he was beginning to ponder Hogwarts seemingly endless supply of hot water, the pounding stopped.

Withdrawing his head from the stream, he turned his face in the direction of the door and listened. A relieved smile curved his lips when silence met his ears. With a quick flick of his wrist, he turned the water off and stepped from the shower, reaching for one of the towels draped across the counter. He stared at the mirror hanging over the sink for a long minute, his reflection hidden beneath a thick layer of fog. Slowly, he leaned forward and swiped a hand over the glass, revealing himself in the misted oval. Although dark rings circled his eyes, he still looked the same. Still looked like the same Harry Potter he'd seen in every reflective surface for the last sixteen years of his life. Carding his fingers through his hair, he offered himself a small smile before striding out into the bedroom.

He halted at the foot of his bed and picked up the white shirt that was neatly folded upon the duvet, the cool air raising goose bumps along his arms as he struggled to drag the fabric over his still damp skin. Reaching for his boxers, he carelessly tossed the towel aside, glancing at the small silver clock sitting on the night table beside the bed as he dressed. "Shit", he breathed at the time displayed upon the circular face. Sliding his feet into his shoes, he grabbed his school robe and swung it over his shoulders as he left the room, slowing only to slip the Gryffindor tie free of the doorknob before swinging the door closed on his heels.

Stopping in front of the couch, he flipped the tie over his head and settled it into place with an efficiency borne from years of practice. He gave his pockets a quick pat in search of his wand, swearing angrily when he realized it wasn't where he thought hed left it. Wheeling around on his heels, he scanned the room desperately, slowing only to peer at the clock sitting on the mantle. "Fuck," slipped from his mouth when he accepted the fact he was going to be late for his first class of the afternoon - Potions with the Slytherins.

A silent snarl curled his lips at the thought of seeing Snape for the first time since his incarceration, a throaty growl working its way free of his chest. He stiffened at the sound, clamping his lips together to halt the flow of air from his mouth as he listened anxiously, searching for the wolf inside his head that had been absent since he first ingested the Wolfsbane Potion. He nearly shouted in joy at the aggravated murmur that brushed its way through his thoughts. His eyes fluttered closed as he gave silent thanks to whomever may have been listening, tipping his head back as he listened to the animal's wary grumbles.

Smiling to himself, he remembered his wand was on his desk and rushed over to pick it up, snatching up his book bag and heading for the door as soon as it was in his hand. He nearly tripped over his own feet when something clattered loudly against the glass of the room's only window. Whirling to face the unknown threat, he unconsciously bared his teeth and dropped his bag to free his hands. The sight of Hedwig perched outside the panes had him rushing forward, his fingers fumbling at the latch in his hurry to allow the owl entrance. In his haste, he nearly knocked Hedwig from her awkward perch on the narrow stone ledge, forcing her to flap her wings to recover her balance.

"Sorry, girl," he murmured in apology, pushing the window open and stepping back. He trailed after the owl as she floated across the room on silent wings, frowning at the sight of her unusually ruffled feathers. Brow furrowed, he ran a light hand over owl's head, murmuring soothingly when she shifted away from his touch. Internally pondering the cause of the damage, he carefully freed the parchment bound to her leg, jumping back when she immediately leapt into the air and shot out the window.

Stupefied over the owl's hasty departure, Harry crossed to the window, unfolding the paper as he watched her disappear in the direction of the Owlry. Shaking his head in confusion, he lowered his gaze to the note. Written in dark ink, and a barely legible scrawl, the note read simply:

_10:30 p.m. _

_Hog's Head_

Frowning, he flipped the note over, searching for a name or date, and finding nothing. He pulled out his chair and collapsed onto the hard wood, setting the narrow slip of paper amid the school assignments and quills on his desk. His eyes remained glued on the missive and he absently straightened the curling edges with the tips of his fingers, puzzling over the lack of date. Inside his skull, the wolf murmured the answer, making Harry draw a deep breath and close his eyes. For a moment, he actually considered ignoring the whisper, taking the message to Hermione instead and letting her come up with the answer he wasn't ready to accept. Because there was no way he was ready to meet Fenrir Greyback tonight - the night after the full moon when he was feeling admittedly weak and most definitely betrayed.

The dark-haired wizard dropped his chin into his palm, laying his hand over the note as if able to erase its existence with a mere wish. He may have asked the rogue werewolf for a meeting, but he hadn't expected Greyback to reply immediately, and he certainly hadnt expected that meeting to be on the same day as his request was sent. Why, he hadn't even had time to talk himself out of the entire thing yet. Sighing, he swiped a hand over his face and rose, crushing the note in a curled fist and tossing it in the direction of the hearth as he moved toward the door. He may as well show up late for Potions, because the detention Snape was sure to give him couldn't possibly make his day any worse.

XxXxX

Unfortunately, Harry had forgotten how fate loved to screw with him. After walking into the Potions Classroom and disrupting Snape's lecture on why Gryffindors lacked any brewing skills whatsoever, he discovered that the only unoccupied seat was located next to Malfoy at the back of the room - and currently occupied by the blond's feet. His eyes closed briefly in disbelief before he accepted the fact he was going to have to sit next to the Slytherin. Teeth grit, he ambled over to the empty chair and without so much as a growl of warning, yanked it from beneath Malfoy's heels.

Much to the disappointment of the class, his actions failed to garner a response from the blond. Other than the soft grunt he made when his heels connected with the floor, Malfoy neither stirred nor snapped. The group nearly groaned aloud at the unusual lack of hostility from the Slytherin.

Harry, on the other hand, found himself feeling strangely relieved over the other wizard's lack of response - both physical and verbal. With a soft exhalation, he flopped into his freshly acquired chair, giving Malfoy's feet only a passing nudge as he stretched his legs out beneath the desk. He dumped his bag on the floor next to his seat and folded his arms across his chest, assuming a position very similar to that of the blond napping in the chair beside him.

"Are you quite comfortable, Mister Potter?" Snape sneered into the silence. His harsh voice caused an immediate wave of shifting as everyone whirled around to face the front of the room, attempting to appear like they'd been listening to him for the last three minutes.

Barely able to suppress a growl of hatred, Harry gave a tight dip of his head and replied, "Quite." His voice emerged as a rough rumble, the sound finally drawing a response from the apparently dozing Slytherin sprawled beside him.

The soft rumble that vibrated the blond's chest would have been inaudible to the human ear, but to Harry, it was as clear as the ticking of the clock on the far wall. Immediately, the wolf roused, its heightened senses overwhelming Harry's muted ones. In a heartbeat, his entire being was focused on Malfoy, from the pumping of his heart to each flutter of the blond's nostrils, the dark-haired wizard missed nothing. For that reason alone he was able to detect the new but now familiar smell that clung to the blond's skin: the smell of wolf and fur. The discovery widened his eyes and caused his body to tense.

Malfoy, in turn, stiffened. Though his posture remained relatively relaxed, his knuckles whitened where they curled around his elbows and his jaw clenched. One silver eye slitted to closely observe the raven-haired wizard beside him, waited for further action beyond the anxious tensing of muscles.

Harry swallowed and glanced nervously about, hoping that the almost tangible tension swirling around the back table was going unnoticed by the individuals sitting at the surrounding desks. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, uncurling his fingers and drawing in a deep calming breath. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, focusing his gaze on the blackboard behind Snape while his mind raced. It was true, then. Malfoy really was a werewolf. The wolf whispered a snide 'I told you so' within his skull, though its attention never really left the wizard seated beside them. He didn't believe, however, that the other male would react, at all. Reacting meant possibly exposing himself.

Any reluctance Harry had felt over believing the wolf was gone, confusion and surprise having replaced his hesitancy. Part of him wanted to confront Malfoy, the other part was unwilling to risk possibly exposing himself in the process. Inhaling deeply, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to appear calm and relaxed. Beside him, the blond shifted, easing deeper into his chair. For the remainder of the class, the pair sat quietly next to each other, cautiously attuned to the other's movements.

When Snape finally dismissed the bored group, Harry was one of the first to flee the room, not bothering to wait for Hermione who was gesturing wildly in his direction. His muscles eased as soon as he was free of the room. Nearly sighing at the feeling, he stepped out of the steady flow of students and glanced in the direction of the Potions Classroom, watching for Hermione to appear. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the disgruntled look on her face, her displeasure at being ignored obvious.

"You could have waited for me", she grumbled, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder. Shooting him a narrow eyed look, she slid a proprietary hand through his arm and proceeded to tow him down the hall, muttering under her breath the entire time. When she was finally forced to slow her hectic pace due to a pack of Hufflepuffs lingering in the corridor, she shot him a look from beneath her lashes, her lips pursed. "Well, how was it?"

Harry glanced away, avoiding her gaze. "It was okay," he mumbled, shifting his book bag into a more comfortable position. They reached a narrow section of hallway and he urged Hermione ahead of him, glad she couldn't see the expression on his face.

"And Remus? He was there?" She asked, curiousity colouring her voice.

Harry's teeth clamped together, his knuckles whitening around the strap of his bag. The wolf growled at the mere mention of Remus's name, the sound thrumming within his throat. "Don't say that mangy bastard's name in my presence again," he hissed softly, his eyes flashing angrily.

"Harry," Hermione gasped, sounding startled and scandalized all at the same time. The witch peeked over her shoulder, stumbling slightly at the deadly gleam in the dark-haired wizard's eyes. She paled when the orbs flickered, the emerald turning a dark shade of jade.

Harry shook his head, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his bag. "Leave it alone, Hermione." He said in a terse whisper, pushing past the witch and climbing up the dungeon stairs. He wasn't ready to talk about Lupin's betrayal or abandonment, because she wouldn't understand. She'd make the appropriate excuses, try and pat him on the head and assure him that everything wasn't as it seemed. But it was, and he knew it. With a frustrated rumble, he lengthened his stride, leaving the witch calling his name in the middle of the main corridor.

XxXxX

The Hog's Head was exactly as Harry remembered it; heavily shadowed and encrusted with filth from the floor to the ceiling. Nose wrinkled in disgust, he scanned the tavern carefully, giving the single pair of patrons a suspicious glance before shifting his gaze to the shady barman leaning against the grime-covered bar. He flinched when the door thumped closed behind him, the thud breaking the heavy silence shrouding the pub. Squaring his shoulders, he prowled deeper into the room, skirting around several of the dirtier tables in favour of one near the back that appeared reasonably clean. He absently adjusted the hood of his cloak as he slid into one of two chairs pulled up to the table, barely avoiding the grimace that threatened to curl his lips when his hand slid through something sticky.

He'd left Hogwarts under his invisibility cloak, taking one of the secret passages into Hogsmeade and then making his way to the Hog's Head. The most difficult part of the entire venture had been slipping away from Hermione, who had been sticking close to his side since his blow up on the dungeon stairs. Knowing he looked it, he'd told her he was tired and going back to his room. The excuse had sounded weak even to his ears. With a sigh, he dropped his eyes to the table, realizing he'd owe the witch an apology tomorrow.

Soft whispers brushed his ears, hints of the resumed conversation occurring between the pair on the opposite side of the tavern. Studiously avoiding the barkeep's gaze, Harry fingered a shallow groove in the stained wood of the table, idly wondering if the dark smudge to the right of his pinkie was dried blood. The creak of the door's hinges and a rush of cold air heralded the arrival of another patron, once again bringing silence to the pub. Hands knotting into fists, the dark-haired wizard lifted his gaze and stared at the cloaked individual, his nose twitching as the swirling air brought him the smell of wolf. Swallowing, he straightened, his movement drawing the werewolf's attention in his direction.

Fear sent his heart lunging into a frantic gallop, caused his knuckles to whiten where they gripped the edge of the table. Drawing a deep breath, he pushed the fear down and lifted his chin, watching the tall male glide purposefully toward him. Against his will, a warning growl slipped from his mouth, the sound causing the other werewolf to slow his aggressive prowl forward. His nails bit into the table and he inhaled sharply, his nose filling with the smell of wolf and stale beer. By the time the cloaked male arrived at the table, Harry was nearly shaking with his nerves and almost gasping for breath.

"Get up," the tall werewolf ordered, staring down at the raven-haired wizard from the cowl of his cloak. He turned his head in the direction of the bar, casting an intense glare at the openly observing barman, the look alone enough to send the grungily dressed wizard stumbling to the opposite side of the room.

Harry stiffened, not at the order itself but rather the voice that issued it. Mouth falling open, he slowly lifted his chin, peering calculatingly up into the hood of the individual standing over him. His lips moved soundlessly, his eyes narrowing before he shot to his feet, reaching out to seize the other wizard by the front of his cloak. Unfortunately, his hands grasped empty air and he stumbled forward, the tall male easily sidestepping his lurching form.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" Hissed the tall werewolf, swinging around to keep the other male in front of him.

Whirling around, Harry snarled savagely, his hands fisting. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" He snapped back, slapping at the still swinging folds of his cloak to settle the dark fabric. His lips drew back from his teeth, flashing delicately pointed incisors.

Lifting a single brow, Draco planted a hand on his hip. "You asked for this meeting, didn't you?" He barked, his mouth twisting into a familiar sneer. The squeal of wood upon wood turned his attention to the duo seated across the tavern, his brows drawing down as he gave a sharp shake of his head.

"I did!" Harry hissed loudly, curling his hands into fists, "But I thought I was meeting Gr-." He clamped his teeth together at the blond's growl of warning, his blazing orbs swiveling to the seated pair silently watching the unfolding drama. Sucking in a calming breath, he shot the other wizard an angry look before stalking toward the door. The cold lash of winter air struck his face as he slammed out into the night, making it no further than six steps before a hand closed around his forearm. His fist was already swinging when he spun around, its trajectory on level with the blond's chin.

Malfoy was quicker, however, dodging the punch and ruthlessly shoving the dark-haired wizard to the hardened ground. "Do you honestly think he'd risk getting captured merely for your benefit, Potter? Consider yourself lucky he even agreed to such a dangerous meeting." Chest rapidly rising and falling, the blond stared down at the other male, his hands clenching and unclenching as a rumbling growl vibrated within his throat. "I was sent to lead you to him. Come with me or stay here, your choice." That said - or rather growled - Draco turned on his heel and slipped silently into the night, leaving Potter sputtering in the snow.

Sprawled on his backside, Harry glared up at the stars and silently wondered 'why him?'. With an unhappy grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and followed Malfoy's scent through the darkness, internally considering the chance that this was a trap and he was about to die a very bloody and painful death. Ripped apart by a pack of crazed werewolves, he thought, or worse, beaten bloody by Malfoy. Fighting down a shudder, he trailed the blond away from Hogsmeade, slowing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Stay close," Draco murmured, one shadow among many.

The warning came as a surprise to Harry, the whisper chasing away some of his lingering trepidation. Warily, he moved forward, his eyes darting from left to right, searching for danger among the thick trunks and snow laden branches. "Why you?" He asked finally, the question having been plaguing his thoughts. Overhead, the moon shone brightly, lighting a path only Malfoy seemed to be able to see. His brows drew down at the other wizards silence, his mouth opening to repeat the question just as the blond opened his to respond. He closed his in deference to Malfoy, waiting patiently for an answer.

After a moment of hesitation, Draco responded, his voice sounding oddly rough. "I'm expendable," he said quietly, a bitter laugh following the simple statement.

Harry's eyes widened at the somber declaration. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice emerging as a whisper. If there was one thing Harry had never been, it was expendable. He was always protected and babied, shielded from the worst of the world. Not once had he ever thought of Draco Malfoy as expendable, though. The other wizard was the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune, Harry figured that made him pretty much irreplaceable, but perhaps he'd been wrong. Frowning, he concentrated on placing his feet in the blond's boot prints.

Draco didn't bother acknowledging the apology. Without glancing back to make sure the raven-haired male was still following him, he glided deeper into the forest, winding his way between the trees and deeper banks of snow. They finally reached their destination, a completely insignificant section of forest unremarkable in any way. The only reason the blond was certain he was in the correct place was the scent of Greyback and other members of the pack that lingered in the air and clung to the surrounding pines. "We're here," he breathed.

Harry scanned the wooded area, his nose twitching at the strong smell of wolves. With a nervous look over his shoulder, he circled around Malfoy, heeding the wolf's whisper for caution. "There's no one here," he said in confusion, wondering if this was the part where Malfoy kicked his ass and buried his unconscious body in the nearest snowbank.

"Are you so sure of that?" Draco asked quietly, turning slowly to the left. A smile curved his lips as he bowed his head, locking his gaze on the ground several inches to the right of the pair of boots that had appeared there.

The smug purr in the blond's voice turned Harry's head, widening his eyes at the tall figure standing shrouded in the shadows. He took an involuntary step backwards and bumped into something, a startled gasp spilling from his mouth as he whirled around. The sight of a second imposing figure standing directly behind him caused a sharp yelp to spill from between his lips, the sound curling the tall male's mouth into an amused grin.

"Well done, Draco," the shadowy figure said in praise, sliding forth from the heavy darkness to stand in a ray of moonlight. In the faint glow, Fenrir Greyback smiled, revealing pointed yellow teeth. A delighted chuckle rolled from his mouth at the expression on Harry's face, and he exchanged feral grins with the other two werewolves who had slunk into the clearing on his heels.

Draco bowed his head, acknowledging the words even as he shifted away from Harry. "Thank you, Fenrir," he whispered, shooting a dirty look at the werewolf flanking the older male.

"They weren't followed," the tall blond standing to the right of Greyback reported, curling a lip at Draco in warning.

Harry stiffened at the exchange, his eyes narrowing on the new arrivals. A soft sniff told him that he had indeed met the pair before, on two separate occasions. The most recent of which was in the Hog's Head. It was the second - or more like the first - meeting that caused a growl to rise within his chest. He'd run into these two blonds in Hogsmeade before Christmas; they'd been escorting the hazel eyed brat who'd bitten him. His attention was forced from the taller male by Fenrir, the werewolf's voice interrupting his thoughts.

"Excellent news," Fenrir Greyback said in a jovial tone, ambling closer to Harry. His gaze swept the young werewolf from the top of his shaggy locks to the dark toes of his winter boots, an absent nod of approval sending matted hair spilling over his forehead. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to finally meet you, Harry Potter, and I can't even begin to express my happiness at your eagerness to meet me."

"I'm not-" Harry began, but he stopped when he realized he didn't know how to respond. He gave an abrupt shake of his head, glancing in Dracos direction as if seeking help unraveling the misunderstanding.

"Oh, I know," Greyback murmured, circling Harry in a predatory fashion. "They sent you running into my arms - Dumbledore and his precious Order. How extremely unfeeling of them, especially considering the fact Lupin's been a wolf longer than you've been alive. And it was his rejection that hurt the most, didn't it, Harry? His words that bit like a rabid dog? But how can you expect someone who doesn't even love themself to love you?"

Harry blinked at the logic, staring at Greyback with shimmering emerald orbs. His lips moved, but he uttered not a single sound. In his head, the wolf grumbled, but its words were buried beneath Fenrir's question, the whisper becoming a taunt that looped itself around his mind. How can you expect someone who doesn't even love themself to love you?

"But I digress," Fenrir said, giving a wave of his hand. "What can I do for you, Mister Harry Potter?"

Swallowing, the dark-haired wizard drew himself up, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin to an arrogant angle. He pushed the voice inside his head down, burying it far beneath the wolf, allowing the animal's intelligence and ruthlessness to consume him, because that was the only thing that would allow him to carry on this charade. "I want to know what's in it for me," he said, "Joining you, I mean."

Greyback halted in front of Harry, the smile he wore growing until it encompassed his entire face. "Smart boy," he said softly, his golden eyes shifting to the heavily cloaked werewolves waiting impatiently in the shadows. "That's a long discussion, though, one that should be had beyond the reach of any prying ears that might be about. Andrej, Steve, we're going home. Draco, bring Potter along with you." Giving the dark-haired wizard a last hard considering look, Fenrir stepped back and then vanished, his silent departure sending a wall of snow washing over Harry. The other two werewolves disappeared in much the same fashion.

Slowly, Harry turned to face Draco, staring across the short distance between them. He didn't think he was ready to go home with the crazy werewolf he'd just met. As far as he was concerned, he'd fulfilled his quota of stupid-stuff-to-do for the day several hours ago when he'd slipped out of Hogwarts without telling anyone where he was going.

"Where's your Gryffindor courage?" Draco asked softly, his silver eyes glowing eerily in the darkness.

Harry's gaze dropped from the blond's glowing orbs to the hand encased in black leather held tentatively out to him. This was the second time he'd been offered that particular hand; once it had been extended in friendship, and now it was offered again, though the reason behind its appearance was unclear. Drawing a deep breath, he walked forward and slid his fingers into the blond's. He caught only a glimpse of the other wizards' smile before the familiar tug of apparition jerked at his navel.

XxXxX

Harry landed on his arse in a pile of snow, his fingers slipping through Draco's. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blond's amused chuckle as he knocked the clinging flakes from the back of his robes. When he was done, he glanced curiously around, his brow furrowing at finding himself standing in a small clearing in the middle of nowhere. "Where are we?" He asked, breathing deeply of the night air. The inhalation brought him the smell of smoke and wolves, the scent strong enough to stir his own wolf's interest.

"Half a mile to the north of the Glen," Draco stated, pointing in said direction. "We'd best hurry, they'll be waiting on us now." He set off on a well-worn path tamped in the snow, heading in the direction of the house shared by Greyback and his pack. Snow began to filter down through the bare branches stretching overhead, the first flakes settling silently upon the earth.

"Is he really crazy?" Harry asked, more to fill the silence than anything else. Though if anyone ever did ask him, he'd admit to being slightly worried that he'd agreed to meet a mad man about a potential job without first conversing with Hermione, his sometimes conscience.

Tipping his head back, the blond eyed the dark sky thoughtfully. "Moon Mad," he finally replied, brushing snow from the shoulders of his cloak. "The closer it gets to the full moon, the more intense and unpredictable he gets. You've met him on a good night, though, the night after the full moon. He's tired now, more tame than usual." His gaze dropped from the black expanse above to the surrounding forest, his attention returning to the path they followed. He slowed marginally, allowing the dark-haired wizard to draw even with him, eager to see his reaction when he laid his jade orbs on The Wolves Glen.

Harry eyed Malfoy curiously, growing nervous at the look of anticipation the blond wore. Lights appeared between the trees ahead, the soft glow emanating through the night. They rounded another bend in the path and he halted abruptly, his mouth falling open as his gaze landed on the structure that stood atop a small hill above a narrow expanse of meadow. He swallowed loudly, staring at the decrepit old farmhouse that could hardly be considered standing. There was a gaping hole in the sagging roof and not a single pane of glass in the windows remained unbroken. White paint was faded and chipped, exposing rotting wood that had seen better days. The chimney, or rather what remained of it, leaned away from the house on an angle very similar to that of the front door. What may have once been a cozy front porch now resembled a death trap, the fact it was still standing a miracle in itself.

A sudden thought struck Harry, perhaps this was a magical house, something like the tent they'd used during the Quidditch World Cup. Merlin's balls, the dilapidated shack made the Burrow look like an architectural masterpiece. Swallowing again, he hurried to catch up with Malfoy, preferring to follow the blond into the wreck than be forced to wander in alone and inadvertently injure himself while attempting to climb the crooked front steps. He placed one hand on the railing at the bottom of the stairs, releasing it almost immediately when it wobbled within his grasp.

"Hurry up, Potter," Malfoy said, though his voice was laced with laughter. Giving a shake of his head, he dragged the front door open and glided inside, leaving the portal wide open as if daring the dark-haired wizard to follow him.

Standing at the bottom of the steps and pondering his chances of survival, Harry listened to the conversation occurring somewhere within the old farmhouse.

"He's weak."

"He reeks of Wolfsbane."

"He's dumb."

"He's young."

"He's Harry Potter."

That last one was said with a large amount of disdain, enough to make Harry's lips pull back from his teeth angrily. They were judging him, again, without having met him first. A snarl rolled from his throat. They were just like all the rest, expecting things from him without even having met him.

_Show them_, the wolf rumbled, _show them who we really are._

The smile that appeared upon his lips was decidedly malicious, the gleam in his eyes matching it perfectly. Bending his knees, he leapt up onto the porch and prowled into the darkened interior of the house, not knowing who or how many werewolves were inside, but perfectly prepared to show them exactly who they were dealing with.

XxXxX

A/n: I know its been a long wait, but I've been busy - the same excuse I use time and time agin. I wish I could take the time to acknowledge every one of you who takes the time to leave me a thoughtful review, but unfortunately that would take me a while. So, thanks for all the wonderful comments and critiques!


	7. An Irrefutable Offer

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling

**Chapter Seven - An Irrefutable Offer**

* * *

The bold and brazen entrance Harry had envisioned died a fast death when he crossed the threshold of the crumbling farmhouse, every instinct he had screaming for him to proceed with the utmost care. Heart pounding furiously in the back of his throat, he halted just inside the doorway, his gaze sweeping the heavily shadowed foyar, searching the darkness for danger. His body tensed at the revealing groan of the floorboards beneath his feet, the very flow of air into his lungs stilling as he waited. The soft murmur of voices faded, the ensuing silence telling.

Realizing his presence within the dilapidated shack was no longer a secret, he drew a deep breath and took a wary step forward, casting his eyes over the small entrance hall. Directly ahead of him a staircase stretched upwards, its broken and crooked steps leading into the dark abyss above. He lowered his gaze, dismissing the second floor completely, his attention falling to the narrow hall that lay alongside the stairwell. His eyes narrowed on the closed portal that stood at the end of the hallway, the soft glow of candlelight emanating from beneath the door.

Glancing nervously to the left and right, he tipped his chin and inhaled. Immediately his senses were flooded with the smell of fur and wolf, the scents so strong they caused a rumble to vibrate his chest, the sound echoing in the empty foyar. Inside his skull the wolf stretched, the movement causing the muscles in his back to ripple in reaction, the unfamiliar feeling drawing a surprised gasp from between his lips.

_Pack_, the wolf breathed, reveling in the strong smell that was liberally spread throughout the farmhouse.

Harry tensed at the wolf's happy croon, his fingers curling as he stared at the portal. While moments ago the urge to crash into the house and assert his dominance had nearly had him foaming at the mouth, the sudden realization that he didn't know how many individuals were waiting for him had the rush of adrenaline fading. The urge to shift in his uncertainty was strong, but the urge to retain some measure of stealth was stronger, keeping his feet planted firmly upon the dusty boards.

He lifted his nose and sniffed, attempting to discern exactly how many werewolves were within the room at the end of the corridor, and failing. With the cool winter wind whipping through the cracks in the windows and stirring the air around, there was no way to hone in on the most recent scents. No way for him to tell how many of the werewolves that had passed through the door remained.

The decision on how he should proceed was ripped from his hands when the closed door was dragged open abruptly, the hinges groaning in protest as light flooded the hallway. Blinking against the sudden brightness, he turned his head and lifted a hand to shield his sensitive eyes, nearly yelping in surprise at finding himself almost nose to nose with Andrej, the first blond from the clearing. He stumbled backwards to put space between them, knocking into something tall and hard and equally living in the process. Again he spun, swinging to face the tall form of the second werewolf from earlier, the male's pale eyes staring down at him in bored patience.

"We're waiting, Harry."

Flinching at the melodic purr, the dark-haired wizard turned to face the doorway, ignoring the pair of werewolves that had materialized silently at his elbows. His eyes locked with the amber orbs of Fenrir, a chill creeping up his spine at the strange gleam in the glowing spheres. He swallowed loudly, gritting his teeth at the soft chuckle that escaped the blond to his right, the sound grating on his already strained nerves. Shooting the male a baleful glare, Harry straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, gathering his waning courage before beginning to pace down the narrow hall. His pulse leapt as he drew closer to Fenrir, the wolf within his head falling silent, growing more watchful with every step he took.

Stepping aside, Fenrir waved Harry in, urging him toward an empty chair at the round table. "Come in," he said, his tone brisk. "Have a seat." His gaze followed the younger male across the room, silently judging his reaction to the icy reception he was receiving.

Muscles tense, Harry walked stiffly across the kitchen, his hands balling into fists as he drew abreast of the small group seated around the table. Movements cautious, he bypassed the only remaining chair in the room, choosing instead to put his back against the wall on the far side of the chamber. Almost immediately he felt safer, the fear of being attacked reduced by the pressure of the wall between his shoulder blades. Folding his arms nervously across his chest, the dark-haired wizard scanned the room quickly, trying to pretend he wasn't the sole object of several extremely hateful stares.

Besides the warped floorboards and cracked counter tops, the room boasted few fixtures other than the circular table. A scattering of mismatched chairs were placed about the room, all of them occupied by individuals of a decidedly shady nature. Candles of varying colours and heights flickered gently along the counter, held upright only by the wax gobbed around their bases. Harry's eyes slowed when they reached Malfoy, taking in the blond's almost protective position behind the large chair sitting before the cold hearth. Curious at the blond's posture, he lowered his gaze to the bundle of dirty rags sitting on the faded cushion, his entire body stiffening in surprise. There, curled into a little ball and sleeping like Hagrid's Fluffy, was the hazel-eyed brat who'd bitten him.

_Alpha_, the wolf breathed through his skull. The reverent whisper startled Harry, not because he hadn't been expecting it, but because his eyes were still focused on the young boy. Shock was a slap in the face, disbelief jerking his wide orbs up to Malfoy's. He nearly began to shake his head, incredulous at the very thought that a child would be in charge of him. It was the look on Draco's face that stopped him, had him clenching his hands and shifting his attention to Fenrir Greyback.

A small smile curling his lips, Fenrir paced toward the fireplace and halted, staring down at the sleeping toddler with eyes that flashed triumphantly. "So, you want to join us?" He questioned finally, the amused drawl drawing chuckles from the quietly observing werewolves.

Harry stiffened, his nails biting into his palms as he fought down the urge to leap on the nearest male and tear out his throat. "Yes," he said from between grit teeth. A rumble slid up his throat and spilled over his lips at the wave of snickers that rose in the wake of the confession. Eyes narrowed, he refocused on Fenrir, tamping down the steady stream of growls vibrating his chest. "When will you tell Voldemort?" He may as well of asked Greyback if he was planning on exchanging Valentines with the other Death Eaters this coming February fourteenth.

"Voldemort? That snake-faced bastard! Thinks he has the right to put me - Fenrir Greyback- on a leash! I'll show him!-"

Fenrir's reaction to the question was completely unexpected, his howl of fury causing Harry to cringe and press back against the wall. Eyes widening at the explosion, the dark-haired male swept a nervous glance around the room, trying to figure out whether or not this was an unusual occurrence. Much to his surprise, the group appeared completely unfazed by the snarling werewolf waving his arms wildly in the center of the kitchen.

Even as he watched, Andrej and Steve began a whispered conversation, the taller werewolf nodding his head in agreement with something the smaller said. Standing in the corner, Draco ticked something off on his fingers, composing some internal list. Brows drawing down, Harry returned his attention to Fenrir, watching as the crazed werewolf prowled back and forth in the small space and bellowed unhappily.

"We are not dogs to be called to heel! We are wolves! We should be respected and feared, not forced to grovel before some pathetic excuse for a wizard!"

It took Harry a moment to figure out what the problem with the entire scene was, and then another to try and grasp the meaning of it. Now, he would never claim to be the smartest wizard at Hogwarts, but he was capable of putting two and two together. And in this case, it was sounding a lot like Fenrir Greyback didn't really get along with Voldemort. Confusion crowded his mind as his eyes followed the werewolf's pacing form. Weren't Voldemort and Greyback supposed to be great buddies? All the rumours he'd ever heard about the pair based their partnership on a mutual dislike of the Ministry of Magic. Yet the rant he was listening to at that second seemed to completely dispel that theory.

In fact, at this point in time, Harry figured it would be safe to say that the only thing Greyback really did like was the moon - and that was probably an extremely awkward one-sided relationship. The raven-haired male lifted his head when he realized silence had fallen over the kitchen, the only noise the whistle of the wind and the heavy, panting breaths falling from Greyback's mouth.

"Papa? What's the matter?"

Harry's gaze flew from Greyback to the chair before the cold hearth, the sparking emeralds landing on the small boy curled upon the cushion. The hazel eyes that haunted his nightmares turned to him, widening as a look of wonderment crossed the child's pale features. Within his head the wolf stirred, pressed forward, eager to interact with the younger werewolf.

"Harry Potter," the boy breathed, "you came."

Practically quivering with his anxiety, Harry stared at the boy, his fingers curling and uncurling. He stiffened when the child slipped liquidly from the chair, tension thickening the air as the younger male approached him eagerly, seeming completely unaware of the tensing of the dark-haired wizard's body. Although his focus remained on the small boy, he was aware of the precise moment Steve and Andrej peeled away from the far wall, the duo moving quietly forward to flank the child.

"I didn't think you'd come," the boy chattered happily, his reddish-brown orbs glittering in the candlelight. "But Draco said you would. He said that Harry Potter would never miss an opportunity to fuck up Voldemort's carefully laid plans."

Harry's eyes widened, whether it was from the child's guileless use of the f-word or the fact that Draco Malfoy actually believed he was capable of accomplishing something, it was hard to tell. Swallowing, he darted a quick look at the blond, surprised to see the other wizard's cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of scarlet. His eyes returned to the young werewolf, surprise causing him to attempt a step backwards at the boy's unexpected proximity.

"Draco said you had a hero complex that caused you to do idiotic things," the boy announced from a mere foot away. He blinked his hazel eyes innocently, peering up at the raven-haired male without a care in the world. To either side of him, Steve and Andrej shifted, inching forward.

"Jaime!" Draco hissed, his eyes flashing platinum with his anger. He dared a look at Harry, trying to appear aloof when he found the other wizard's eyes on him. "What did we tell you about repeating gossip?"

"To only do it if it's worthy of repeating," the boy replied promptly, his attention never wavering from Harry.

Having grown impatient with the exchange, Harry lifted his chin. "Why was I changed then? If not on Voldemort's orders, than why?" He yelled. The reaction the outraged bellow garnered was unexpected. Chairs crashed to the floor and the rickety table toppled, undoubtedly shoved aside by one of the overeager werewolves charging toward him. He had little time to react, barely managing to clench his fist before he was slammed back against the wall. His head struck the faded wallpaper with such force that the dry wood supporting it snapped. Howling angrily, he kicked and swung mindlessly.

"Enough." With one softly spoken word, Fenrir brought order back to the kitchen. His amber orbs glittered dangerously as they swept over the group, taking in their bloody noses and knuckles with a displeased frown. "I bring a guest into our home and this is how you treat him? Like a bunch of rabid squirrels? Get out, the lot of you."

From his place on the floor, Harry watched the werewolves slink from the kitchen, their heads hanging guiltily. Gingerly probing his nose, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, leaning back against the crumbling wall as soon as he was standing. He turned his head at a flash of movement, finding Malfoy still standing in his corner, Jaime pressed back against his legs. The wolf cringed within him, its guilt and shame over its thoughtlessness overshadowing Harry's own emotions. Clamping his lips closed to contain the apology that threatened to spill out, the dark-haired wizard looked to Fenrir for answers.

Arching a brow, Fenrir flicked his fingers at the kitchen table, the gesture sending Steve and Andrej leaping into action. The pair righted the table and then returned to their former positions without a word. Glowing eyes resting on Harry, the tall werewolf prowled across the narrow kitchen, halting directly in front of the younger male. "I don't tolerate impudence within my house, whelp." Greyback growled, his right-hand flashing out and connecting quite firmly with Harry's left cheek.

The force of the blow sent Harry back to the ground, a pained gasp escaping his mouth. His eyes watered at the sting from the slap, the sudden pain allowing him to forget his aching nose. "Sorry," he mumbled, cupping his burning cheek.

"Pardon?" Fenrir said, leaning forward aggressively.

Lowering his hand, Harry took a deep breath and repeated the apology. "I'm sorry." He stiffened in preparation for another blow, another blow that never came. Before he realized what had happened, he found himself standing, Greyback's hands locked around his biceps.

"Good boy," Greyback murmured approvingly, releasing the young wizard and stepping away from him. "Now, what was the question you asked me in such an impolite tone?"

Eyes focused on the floor, Harry drew a deep breath and then lifted his chin. "Why was I changed?" His hands fisted at his sides, waiting for the explosion that would surely follow the question.

Slowly releasing Malfoy's legs, Jaime stepped forward to stand in front of Harry. Appearing much older than he was, he peered solemnly up at the dark-haired wizard, his small hands clasped tightly together before him. After a moment of hesitation, he answered the question in a soft whisper. "To chase away the monsters." He lowered his gaze immediately after making the confession, not daring to meet the older boy's glowing orbs.

"Monsters?" Harry repeated, dumbfounded. His brow drew down as he stared at the top of Jaime's head, wondering what beast could be so fearsome as to scare a young boy who was doted on by a pack of ferocious werewolves. That thought had him shifting nervously and glancing about the room. The wave of fear that swept through him was only intensified by the fact that the remainder of the pack still assembled in the kitchen refused to meet his eyes, glancing quickly away when his gaze landed on them. They were all afraid, he realized. Slowly, he drew a deep breath and returned his attention to Jaime. "What monsters?" He asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

Jaime pressed back against Malfoy's legs, his small frame vibrating with his anxiety. He ignored the question, pretending he hadn't heard it as he focused his attention on the way the boards under his feet squeaked when he shifted. The question was repeated twice more before he lifted his gaze, a gentle nudge from behind silently urging him to answer. "The ones in the white masks," he admitted in a mumble.

Harry's chin flew up at the revelation, his eyes widening. His lips moved around a silent whisper, his gaze unintentionally locking with Malfoy's. For one long second he stared into those shimmering silver orbs, unable to comprehend the information he'd just been given, and then the blond blinked, breaking the connection. Drawing a deep breath, the dark-haired wizard turned his head, searching out Fenrir. "Death Eaters," he finally managed, though the name of Voldemort's servants emerged as more of a croak than an actual word. Heads bobbed in unison, each individual in the room silently signaling that he was correct.

"Very good," Fenrir murmured, gazing across the kitchen through eyes veiled by dark lashes. He pushed away from the counter in a liquid movement, flowing across the cracked floorboards with the grace of a dancer - or a hunting wolf. "Death Eaters. And subsequently, their Master: Voldemort. Did you know, Harry, that you're the thing Death Eater nightmares are made of? They whisper your name fearfully, as if merely speaking of you will bring your wand down upon their heads."

Harry shook his head, mute. His eyes followed Fenrir's pacing form, his mind racing in uncomprehending circles. What did him becoming a werewolf have to do with the bad dreams of Death Eaters? And if not on Voldemort's orders, why had he been changed?

"You're going to win this war, Potter, only it won't be for Dumbledore and his Ministry. It will be for us: the forgotten ones. The ones respected by none yet used by everyone. All we've ever been is tools, but you're going to change that. With you, the Saviour of the Wizarding World a werewolf, things are going to have to change," Fenrir purred, his amber orbs flashing victoriously. A wild laugh fell from his mouth and he spun around, gliding across the kitchen toward the window that looked out over the snow-covered meadow. "You'll kill Voldemort, as originally prophesied. Only the credit won't go to the wizards, it'll go to the werewolves."

Harry could only gape at Greyback. Without meaning to, he shot a narrow eyed look at Malfoy; he clearly remembered asking the blond if Fenrir was as crazy as rumoured and getting a disparaging remark about 'moon madness'. Personally, he thought it was probably a little more than an unusual infatuation with the moon. Yep, he figured it was safe to say that Fenrir Greyback was certifiable.

"Draco, take Harry and return to Hogwarts. I'll contact you when it's time for us to meet again." With nary a wave or a goodbye, Fenrir swept from the kitchen, leaving the group staring silently after him.

More than a little nervous, Harry shifted, his eyes sliding from the door to the young boy still standing in front of him. He stared down into those glittering hazel orbs, the look in them mirroring the look he'd seen in dozens of other eyes over the past few years - like he held the answers to all their problems. Swallowing, he slid his eyes away, finding Malfoy where he stood before the fireplace, pale eyes cast upward.

As if sensing his gaze, the blond lowered his chin, his lips pursed and a thoughtful look on his features. "It's past your bedtime, Jaime," Draco murmured softly, pushing away from the wall and shooing the child away from Harry.

"Good-bye, Harry Potter," Jaime said in a whisper. He glided across the kitchen silently, pausing in the doorway to glance back at the older wizard. "You will come back, won't you?"

Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't deny that quiet plea, the wolf in his head already giving its ready agreement to return. Harry managed a small nod of his head in affirmation, the hopeful gleam in the child's eyes too much to destroy. The wolf nearly crooned at the delighted smile that crossed the boy's features right before he vanished around the corner. Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Harry looked at Malfoy, wondering what would happen next.

"Come," Draco murmured quietly, leading the way from the kitchen and down the darkened hall.

Harry trailed Malfoy from the house, nearly putting a foot through the bottom step as he glanced back over his shoulder. The blond's soft chuckle narrowed his eyes and dragged his head around, an answering rumble rising in his throat. He swallowed the growl when the blond peered back at him with interest, flashing teeth and eyes that glittered with promise. Still feeling slightly bruised from the pounding he'd taken earlier, the dark-haired wizard dropped his gaze and glowered at the toes of his boots, following along silently behind the blond.

Together, the pair moved quietly down the narrow trail carved out between the trees. Clouds passed across the moon, casting the forest in darkness, erasing the path from sight. Snow began to filter down between the branches, whispering softly as it landed. Squinting in an effort to see the unfamiliar trail, Harry drew closer to Malfoy, earning a quirked brow in response.

Flushing lightly, Harry scanned the surrounding forest, searching for movement among the trees. "So, Malfoy," he said into the uncomfortable silence. "What made you decide to join Greyback?" The blond flinched noticeably at the question, his shoulders tensing and an expressionless mask sliding across his features

Draco lengthened his stride in an effort to put distance between them, attempting to suppress the shudder that rode him. He was unable to stop himself from scanning the shadows nervously, his hands curling into fists within his pockets. Exhaling slowly, he forced himself to relax, rolling his shoulders and unclenching his fingers. His eyes lifted to the sky, locking on the slip of moon left visible between the dark clouds. Potter would, in time, hear the story of how Draco Malfoy had joined Greyback's pack, he reasoned. Better it be from a reliable source rather than one of the lowly gossip-loving mutts back at the farmhouse, he thought. Lowering his gaze, he slowed his pace, allowing the dark-haired wizard to draw even with him. "It was a Saturday night in October," he began, "When I was made an irrefutable offer."

XxXxX

_Draco slipped between the heavy velvet drapes separating the ballroom from the garden terrace, his boots tapping quietly on the paving stones. Immediately, the loud hum of voices faded, replaced by the soothing chirp of crickets. He drew a deep breath and tipped his face up to the night sky, staring at the stars glittering upon the black expanse above. The ache that had been growing behind his right temple began to wane, the cool night air chasing the flush from his cheeks._

_With a relieved sigh, he dropped his elbows to the stone banister that circled the balcony, enjoying the peace and solitude of the night. Absently, he lifted his hands to the silver tie that collared him, loosening the silk with several light tugs, freeing himself momentarily from the image he was expected to project to the assembled Death Eaters. A short reprieve he was in desperate need of, he thought with a grimace. The judging eyes and acidic tongues of the older Death Eaters were beginning to get to him, their silver coated criticisms tightening his muscles and bringing a cold sweat to his skin._

_Staring out at the shadow shrouded garden, he slid a hand into the inner pocket of his dress robes and withdrew the flask that rested against his breastbone. He idly traced the winding pattern engraved into the metal, his fingers stilling when they reached the cap. With a delicate twist of his digits, he freed the stopper, his lips curving as the heady smell of premium Fire Whiskey brushed his nose. Closing his eyes, he raised the flask and swallowed deeply, welcoming the slow burn that rose in the whiskey's wake._

_"Care to share, Malfoy?"_

_Draco's silver orbs flew open at the raspy voice, his hand tightening around the flask. Slowly, he turned to face the intruder, capping the flask and sliding it away even as he stared into a pair of golden spheres that glittered unnaturally. "My, Greyback, you're looking frighteningly . . . sane this evening," he purred, his fingers curling around his wand as they exited his pocket._

_"Hah," the grizzled werewolf replied, slipping free of the shadows, "You know how deceiving appearances can be."_

_"Indeed," Draco murmured, his eyes flicking nervously in the direction of the velvet draped doorway. He silently pondered his chances of reaching the safety of the ballroom before Greyback went into one of the rages he was so well known for, his focus snapping back to the werewolf when he began a liquid glide across the terrace. The first tendrils of true fear uncurled within his stomach when Greyback circled around him, placing himself quite pointedly in front of the only safe exit off the terrace. Raising his wand in warning, Draco took a calming breath and leaned back against the banister, attempting to present the image of bored nonchalance. "I didn't realize you'd been invited to this particular event."_

_Giving the younger wizard a toothy grin, Greyback replied, "Oh, I wasn't." His amber orbs dropped to the wand the blond held before him, an amused smile twisting his lips. "Afraid of something, Malfoy?"_

_"Of course not," Draco snapped, gritting his teeth when Greyback's grin grew and he tapped the side of his nose knowingly._

_"That's good, especially since we're all on the same side. All of us faithfully serving Lord Voldemort." Fenrir murmured, the slightest hint of what could have been sarcasm slipping into the words. He tipped his head to the side as he studied the blond, seemingly searching for something._

_"I don't know what you're implying, Greyback, but I can assure you-"_

_A sharp snarl interrupted Draco's retort, the sound causing him to flinch. As his eyes darted over the werewolf's shoulder and his heart leapt into a frantic gallop, he internally debated whether or not he was too proud to scream for help. Unfortunately, Greyback was quicker._

_Encircling the blond's throat with one large hand and grasping his right wrist with the other, Fenrir pressed the young wizard back against the stone banister, slowly tightening his grip. He smiled down into Draco's reddening face, watching the blond gasp for breath, enjoying the interwoven smells of fear and pain wafting from the pale skin. "I could kill you right now," he breathed, "And not a single individual within that room would care. Well, your parent's might - but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you." Greyback chortled at his own joke and then released the younger wizard carelessly, watching him sink to the flagstones._

_Draco inhaled greedily, filling his burning lungs with desperately needed air. He stared longingly in the direction of the doorway, praying for someone - anyone- to walk through the velvet curtains. Greyback shifted casually before him, the movement causing him to flinch unconsciously, pressing closer against the stone columns of the railing. Wide eyes locked on the werewolf, he began a cautious search for his wand, smoothing his hands slowly across the paving stones beneath him._

_"Unlike your doting parents, Draco, I take care of my children. Protect them from the things that go bump in the night. Shield them from that which would seek to harm them." Staring down at the blond's bowed head, Greyback's expression softened, the cruel light leaving his shimmering orbs. "Which is why I came looking for you. You see, I'm about to make a serious . . . investment, shall we say, in my family's future. Unfortunately, due to certain restrictions, I'll be unable to properly monitor my investment. And considering the volatile nature of this investment, I find that highly unacceptable."_

_Brow furrowing, Draco lifted his chin, staring at Greyback curiously. His fingers slowed their frantic search, stilling upon the cold flagstones. "What are you talking about?" He rasped, raising a hand to his bruised throat._

_Taking a small step away from the blond's crouched form, Greyback met the cautious silver eyes peering up at him, a humourless smile curving his mouth. "I'm about to make you an offer, Draco Malfoy. You see, you're in a perfect position to keep an eye on my investment for me. I, in turn, will provide you with a loving family and the complete protection of my pack." Tipping his head back, the werewolf gazed thoughtfully at the moon, a loving expression transforming his face as a wolf bayed softly in the distance. "Let's face it, Malfoy, this little . . . gala is nothing more than a sacrificial ceremony presenting you to the Dark Lord as new Death Eater fodder. You'll become nothing more than a tool. One which is easily broken and quickly discarded, might I add."_

_Licking his lips, Draco shot a nervous glance in the direction of the doorway, internally wondering if this was some sort of test. It did sound too good; an easy escape from the life he was being forced into A life he wanted nothing to do with. "I don't understand," he breathed, staring up at Greyback._

_"With your complete agreement, you'll be Bitten, changing that pure blood flowing through your veins into something like nothing else. You'll become a member of my pack: a werewolf." Greyback shifted suddenly, his head snapping around and his eyes narrowing on the slightly swaying curtains. He spun around and took two quick steps, closing the distance he'd put between himself and Draco. "If you want to accept, you'll be at this address the night of the next full moon." Shoving a small card into the blond's shaking hand, Fenrir vaulted over the railing, dropping down into the darkened garden and vanishing._

_Draco stared intently at the narrow slip of parchment in his hand, flinching when someone called his name from several feet away. His fingers closed around the scrap of paper, crumpling it into a little ball as his eyes darted upwards to meet the narrowed orbs of his father. Swallowing, he pushed himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving those of the wizard before him. "I was just taking a moment to catch my breath," he said quietly._

_"Really," Lucius Malfoy drawled, his eyes scanning the terrace in a disbelieving fashion. Pursing his lips, he returned his attention to Draco, frowning at his son's dangling tie and crumpled robes. "Straighten your robes and get back inside. Lord Voldemort is asking after you and he doesn't like to be kept waiting." Shooting his son one last disapproving glare, Lucius whirled around and prowled back into the ballroom._

_Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Draco leaned back against the railing and closed his eyes. He attempted to slow his racing heart and calm his breathing. He opened his eyes several seconds later, straightening the silver tie and then smoothing his hands down his chest, pausing when he realized he still held the crumpled up piece of parchment in the palm of his hand. Glancing in the direction of the doorway, he carefully smoothed its edges, staring at the address scrawled across the stained parchment. He raised his gaze to the curtains tauntingly swaying before him, his fingers neatly folding the paper and sliding it into his pocket. Drawing a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and glided through the drapes, pushing the conversation into the depths of his mind for later dissection._

XxXxX

"And here we are," Draco finished, halting and turning to stare at Harry. "Me watching you, guarding Greyback's investment as it were." He glanced away from the gaping wizard, realizing they'd reached the point where they could safely apparate back to Hogwarts. Sweeping the surrounding forest with cautious eyes, he extended a hand toward the other werewolf.

"You knew Greyback was going to change me and you did nothing about it?" Harry sputtered, stomping to a halt directly in front of the blond. In the faint moonlight, the other werewolf's eyes shimmered platinum, the glittering orbs narrowing at his tone. He stiffened at the growl of warning that vibrated Malfoy's chest, an answering snarl spilling over his lips.

Curling a lip, Draco glared at the dark-haired wizard, wiggling his fingers impatiently. "The offer was practically impossible to deny, Potter. And frankly, in my opinion, me remaining Dark Mark free greatly outweighed your continued existence as a weak blooded wizard."

"Not to me it didn't!" Harry snapped, reaching out to slap away Malfoy's extended hand.

With a lightening quick movement, Draco locked his fingers around Harry's wrist, apparating them back to the Forbidden Forest with a single thought. He released the other wizard on arrival, watching him stumble on the uneven path and nearly land on his face in the snow. "Calm down, Harry," he said quietly, turning around and peering in the direction of Hogsmeade. His ears picked up the dark-haired wizard's frustrated huff, the corner of his mouth hitching upwards in amusement. "We need to get back to the castle before someone notices we're missing."

"You're such a git," Harry hissed, catching his balance and whirling around. He glared angrily at the blond's back, hands balled into fists at his sides.

Glancing back at the dark-haired wizard, Draco gave a delicate lift of his shoulders, seeming completely unmoved by the insult. "Your circumstances have changed, Harry, and there's nothing you can do about it. You're a werewolf now, so live with it . . . or don't." That said, the blond trudged through the snow toward Hogsmeade, slipping quietly between the trees. He was dimly aware of Potter stomping along behind him, the other male cursing and snarling softly beneath his breath. Stopping just inside the tree line, Draco stared at the darkened village, internally wishing he was already back at Hogwarts curled up within his warm bed. Harry appeared in his peripheral vision and paused there, shadowed eyes studying Hogsmeade, his expression unreadable.

"Gift? Or Curse? Is that how you choose to see it, Malfoy?" Harry asked somberly. Snow sifted down through the branches of the tree he stood beneath, the cold flakes unerringly finding the back of his exposed neck. He reached back and dusted the flakes away, his eyes never leaving the sleeping hamlet.

Certain that they were alone, Malfoy stepped free of the forest and turned in the direction of Hogwarts, flipping the hood of his cloak up to hide his face. Gift, he internally scoffed. What kind of gift got you thrown from your home? Got you disowned and disinherited? All done very quietly, of course. So quietly in fact that the whispers had yet to reach Hogwarts of Lucius Malfoy's decision or the reason thereof. He turned his head and glared at Harry, the memories still too fresh to share, especially with someone like Perfect Potter. "I see it like it is," he growled, eyes flashing. He jerked his gaze back to the road that led to Hogwarts, drawing ahead of Harry in hopes of staving off any further discussion.

Harry rolled his eyes at the blond's sudden mood swing. He allowed Malfoy to draw ahead of him, aiming a kick at the snow alongside the road, sending a small flurry of white arcing into the night sky. How could anyone see this as a gift, he wondered, falling farther behind the other wizard. True, he could heal any wound inflicted upon him. And the added strength was a definite bonus. But the whole losing control under the full moon thing was a major turnoff. Pursing his lips, he turned his gaze in Malfoy's direction, noting the blond's sudden change of pace. Brow furrowing, he lengthened his stride and swept the shadows with cautious eyes.

"What is-" He snapped his mouth closed when Draco lifted a hand in warning. Halting alongside the blond, he glanced quickly at the other wizard's face, recognizing the predatory expression on the normally aristocratic features. Tension gripping him, he searched the shadows warily, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. A familiar smell teased his nose, turning him slowly toward the path's edge. The soft crunch of snow whipped his head around, his flashing orbs finding Remus in the darkness. A surprised snarl was ripped free of his mouth, the sound echoed by Malfoy. "Remus," he stated through grit teeth, barely sparing Draco a glance as the blond drew abreast of him.

"Harry," Remus returned quietly, his gaze darting back and forth between the odd pair. "And Draco Malfoy." His hands balled into fists at the implication of their combined presence, the feeling enough to set his teeth on edge. He took a step forward and then froze, his nose twitching almost violently and his eyes widening. Malfoy was a werewolf. It was in the blond's scent; in the unnatural glitter of his gray eyes.

"Former Professor Lupin," Draco purred, "How nice to see you again." He could easily have said more, thrown fuel on the proverbial fire, but he held his tongue. Instead, he shifted slightly, taking one small step backwards, placing Harry firmly in the dominant position.

Eyes slitting on the blond, Remus returned his attention to Harry, staring at the younger wizard with a hopelessness that was fast turning to dread. "You weren't in your room. Nor were you in the library. In fact, you weren't in the castle at all." Holding the dark-haired wizard's gaze, he lifted a hand, displaying the stained and wrinkled Marauder's Map.

"You went through my things?" Harry growled, hackles rising. He took a predatory step forward, consciously aware of Draco's form moving alongside him. While he may have appeared extremely pissed off to the casual observer, inside he was crying at yet another betrayal heaped upon his head by his former friend and mentor. The last one, he thought grimly, knuckles cracking as he fisted his hands.

Remus retreated several steps, eyes locked on the pair prowling toward him. Alone, either of the duo could do severe damage, but together, they presented a threat he was unwilling to face. "On Dumbledore's orders," he said briskly, defending his actions while using the statement to distract from the fact he was pulling his wand free of his heavy winter cloak. "Now, I'm going to ask you both very nicely to accompany me back to Hogwarts." He held his breath as he raised his wand, not knowing how the order would be received.

The pair halted their forward prowl at the wand's appearance. Neither said a word for several seconds, both staring at Remus and his wand before glancing at each other. Finally, Harry gave a barely perceptible nod and took a small step backwards, clearly giving Malfoy permission to act as the spokesperson for the duo.

Draco turned glittering orbs on the older wizard, taking in his position and scent before calmly arching a brow. "It obviously escaped your notice, Lupin, but we were already heading in that direction," he drawled sarcastically, slipping a hand under Harry's arm and giving him a light shove. Lupin was afraid, it was easily discernible in his smell and the slight waver in his voice when he spoke.

Curling a lip at the insolent tone, Remus flicked his wand in the direction of Hogwarts, urging the pair onward. "That may be so, Mister Malfoy, but I doubt your final destination was going to be the Headmaster's office." He nearly heaved a relieved sigh when Harry and Malfoy resumed their course.

Side by side, Harry and Draco walked toward the castle glowing in the distance, very much aware of the wizard following along behind them. They exchanged a sidelong glance, each realizing that they'd have their own part to play in the coming meeting, and not knowing exactly what that part would be. The only thing they were certain of - it was time to choose a side.

* * *

A/n: Um, oops? Sorry guys, it's been a long and busy . . . year. Between work, a new boyfriend, and new kitten, I've been extremely busy. Also, this chapter was very hard to write, so many different parts coming together. Anyway, thank you all once again for the many wonderful reviews. They do give me added encouragement to keep writing - knowing that you're still reading. Thank you!


	8. Burning Bridges

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all characters and locations belong to J. K . Rowling.

**Chapter Eight - Burning Bridges**

* * *

Hogwarts was quiet, its long halls deserted and dark. Some would find it frighteningly easy to get lost in the tangle of corridors at night, but the three wizards silently trekking toward the Headmaster's office were unfazed by the shadowed hallways and stairwells. As it was, torches flared to life along their path, the small pools of light marking their passage through the castle's hallways before they sputtered out, leaving a wave of darkness in the trio's wake.

Harry glanced over his shoulder as he turned down yet another corridor, his feet falling silently upon the stone floor. Draco was a pale shadow at his heels, his silvery eyes glittering in the uncertain light. And trailing the blond - Remus. The older werewolf followed several feet behind them, his eyes wary and his scent nervous.

Harry's gaze flicked forward, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He was going to be expelled. Dumbledore was going to have no choice but to send him back to Grimmauld Place. Back to that little attic full of discarded toys and broken furniture. Why, he'd fit right in, he thought miserably. Shaking his head, he focused his gaze on the stone gargoyle standing guard before the hidden entrance to the Headmaster's office, feeling his hackles rise as the statue fixed its attention on the approaching party.

His pace slowed when the gargoyle shifted with a rasp of stone, its heavy wings lifting menacingly, fangs of darkened rock appearing between thin gums. He halted altogether when the statue growled in warning, the rumble sounding like sliding stone. Remus swept by him on quiet feet, his appearance causing the gargoyle to ease its threatening stance, teeth disappearing and wings folding with the rasp of falling rock.

"The Headmaster is expecting us," Remus said in a soft voice. His gaze shifted back over his shoulder, amber orbs narrowing on the pair standing shoulder to shoulder a short distance away. Not daring to take his eyes off the strange duo lest one of them try something - namely Malfoy, he leaned toward the stony sentry and breathed the password. The blatant attempt at secrecy earned him a set of rolled eyes from Harry and an amused grin from Malfoy, which shouldn't have surprised him in the least as the latter appeared to be enjoying the entire situation immensely.

With a deep rumble the gargoyle slid aside and a stone stairwell began to rise from the stone it had been perched upon, narrow stairs curling upwards toward a darkened doorway. When the groan and hiss of shifting stone gave way to silence, the three werewolves stood there and glared at each other, none wanting to be the first to ascend the shadowed steps for their own personal reasons.

Finally, after having grown tired of Remus's suspicious stare, Harry turned and marched up the stairs. He gave a cursory knock on the door above before storming into Dumbledore's office, his eyes finding the Headmaster unerringly behind the massive mahogany desk at the back of the chamber. He slowed his aggressive stalk forward when tired blue eyes focused on him, the ancient wizard stiffly straightening in his chair and laying down the quill he held.

_Weak_, the wolf murmured in disinterest.

Harry tipped his head at the whisper, his brow drawing down. Albus Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards he'd ever met, and there were many people who would agree with him. How the wolf could see the Headmaster as weak was beyond his understanding.

Inside his skull the wolf sneered. _Old._

Frowning, the dark-haired wizard allowed himself to look at Dumbledore through the wolf's eyes for the first time. As any predator would, the wolf meticulously noted each and every weakness it found, from the arthritic curl of the old wizard's fingers to the glasses perched upon the tip of his nose, he marked Dumbledore for death. Perhaps at one time, the wolf allowed, the elderly wizard may have been able to defeat them. But now he was well past his prime, his speed hindered by tired muscles that no amount of magic could heal. And that would be Dumbledore's downfall. Why, it would take little effort for the pair of them to overpower him, the wolf reasoned. The other would draw the attention of the lapdog and once they had their opening they'd move in and make the kill. Simple, really.

Harry flinched at the wolf's train of thought, his eyes darting to Dumbledore as if afraid the other wizard might be able to hear what he was thinking. He nearly slumped in relief at finding the Headmaster more interested in the duo silently entering the room, Lupin and Draco's arrival accompanied by a wave of tension that thickened the air. The pair were still glaring at each other with fierce eyes, their lips drawn back to display just the smallest hint of teeth. Behind the strange tableau, the door closed with a sudden clap, the noise ending the staring match as both whirled to face the portal.

"I see you found him, Remus," Albus said quietly, his tone heavy with a wariness belied by the almost cheerful expression on his face. His eyes slid back and forth between the unlikely trio, most likely trying to figure out how the three individuals now occupying his study had come to be together. Brow creasing, Dumbledore's gaze followed Remus across the room, his expression growing increasingly grave at the look on the younger wizard's face.

"In Hogsmeade, Albus," Remus all but spat. He whirled to face the pair, raising a finger unnecessarily to point at the blond. "With Malfoy." For all the anger and loathing in his voice, he may as well have been announcing that Voldemort was running for Minister of Magic.

Brows lifting at the unexpected statement, Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, his attention returning to the duo now standing side by side before his desk. "Is this true, Harry?" He asked calmly, his attention fixed not on the dark-haired Gryffindor but the blond Slytherin.

"Yes," Harry answered, lifting his shoulders in a careless shrug. Both points were true: he _had_ been in Hogsmeade and he _had_ been with Malfoy. Together, those two little facts weren't worth denying, especially when he figured he'd be doing a great deal of lying in the very near future.

"Ah," Dumbledore murmured, that one sound worth more than a hundred words. He exchanged a troubled glance with Remus before returning his attention to the pair, fingers giving one quick tap on the edge of his desk. "That's a very serious breach of the school's rules, Harry. Rules which are put in place to keep you safe. Can you tell me what you were doing outside Hogwarts wards after curfew?"

Harry tried not to stiffen at the question, attempting to keep his stance loose and an expression of boredom on his face. A credible lie. He needed a credible lie, preferably something harmless and stupid. In a flash, the wolf supplied him with a number of plausible tales that would fit the circumstances under which they'd been found.

"It was a simple wager, Headmaster." Draco's voice filled the chamber, its unexpectedness causing Harry to jump and Remus's eyes to narrow suspiciously. "All in good fun, of course. You see, a small squabble arose during Care of Magical Creatures between the members of-"

"I will deal with you in a moment, Mister Malfoy." The Headmaster stated firmly, lifting a hand to forestall any forthcoming arguments. His gaze remained locked on Harry, lips compressing into a firm line at the younger wizard's continued silence.

Deny and lie, Draco had the way of it. Hell, it was probably in the Slytherin Code of Ethics, Harry thought. Firming himself to his resolve, he lifted his chin, and lied. "It's exactly like Malfoy said. Each of us was volunteered by our classmates to complete a task in Hogsmeade tonight, that's why Remus found us together."

"He's lying, Albus." Remus snapped, taking several steps forward. He halted next to the Headmaster, placing a hand on the back of the chair the older wizard occupied. "This isn't going to work. He needs to be sent home." The angered statement drove the already tangible tension through the roof, causing the pair standing across from him to shuffle slightly - towards each other. His mouth went dry at the almost unnoticeable gesture, an urgency to see Harry returned to the safety of Grimmauld Place sweeping through him.

"You'd expel Potter for a simple dare?" Draco said, his face taking on a look of sheer glee. The blond looked eagerly towards the Headmaster, seeking an answer to his question.

"Don't try and play me, whelp." Remus snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. The expression Malfoy had dawned fit his tone of voice, but the gleam in his eyes was off. He was trying to cover for Harry, and by the look on Dumbledore's face, he may have been succeeding.

"That's enough, Remus," Dumbledore said, warning clear in his tone. It was becoming increasingly clear that this little gathering was getting well out of hand. Frowning, he turned his gaze to Malfoy, trying to determine exactly where Malfoy fell in the scheme of things. The blond was standing uncommonly close to Harry. Generally, the pair wouldn't be that close together unless fists were flying.

"He's a werewolf, too." Remus stated, once again leveling a finger at the blond.

The announcement should have brought an abrupt end to any confusion Albus had been feeling. Instead, it only created more unanswerable questions. Tales abounded about the loyalty werewolves demonstrated in difficult times. Bounty hunters spoke of individuals sacrificing themselves so their packmates could escape. Brow creasing, he glanced back and forth between the duo. Could that be what this was? Were Draco and Harry attempting to protect each other due to some sort of bond? Of course, what next came out of Malfoy's mouth completely contradicted those rumours.

"Potter's a werewolf?" The blond hissed, seemingly aghast. He sidled quickly away from the dark-haired wizard, staring at him with wide eyes.

"So now everybody's a werewolf," Harry snarled sarcastically, lips twisting into a sneer. He glared across the Headmaster's thick desk at Remus, growing admittedly unnerved by Dumbledore's continued silence.

With a curl of lips, Remus took a step forward, placing his hands on the desk and leaning forward. "Don't even try and deny it, Harry."

"My father is going to hear about this," Draco announced in a shrill voice.

"Enough," the Headmaster said, raising his voice in warning. He fluttered a hand at Remus, the gesture forcing the angry werewolf to retreat several steps. Frowning, his attention shifted back to the pair of wizards standing before him. Malfoy may have been a werewolf but his recent actions went against that theory. Rather, if anything, the Slytherin had simply gotten mixed up in Remus's ongoing battle to have Harry returned to Grimmauld Place.

"I want Harry sent home, Albus." Remus demanded, apparently having lost interest in Malfoy.

Harry smiled slowly, the twist of his lips extremely bitter. "You'd really send me home, Remus? Back to the Dursely's, my _legal_ guardians?" His smile grew as Lupin gaped at him. He couldn't take credit for the underhanded maneuver, it had been the wolf who'd gloatingly pointed out where their home truly was.

It was Remus's turn to fall quiet, his lips pressing tightly together and his eyes narrowing. And then a smile blossomed across his face, the grin decidedly malicious. "Then Albus will simply expel Malfoy," he said.

"No one is being expelled," the Headmaster said in a quiet voice. He lifted a hand and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "And the only werewolf in this room is Remus, Mister Malfoy, who will be taking his leave of Hogwarts within the next few minutes."

"Albus," Lupin hissed, not liking the path the Headmaster seemed set on taking.

"Go home, my boy," Dumbledore ordered, not bothering to glance at the werewolf. He sat silently in his chair as he waited for Remus do as he'd commanded, stiffening when the other male released an angry growl before stalking from the room.

"In light of your recent activities, I'm revoking your Hogsmeade privileges. The pair of you will also be completing two weeks of detention with Professor Snape. I trust that given the late hour, both of you will be heading directly to your respective beds?" He watched the pair carefully as they bobbed their heads, appearing extremely contrite. Nodding his head in dismissal, he picked up the quill he'd lowered at their arrival, his eyes following them as they walked across the study. Frowning, he tried to make sense of the chaotic meeting that had just occurred, and failed. He heaved a sigh as he replaced the quill on his blotter and rose, heading towards his private chambers with the hope that several hours of sleep would help untangle tonight's events.

XxXxX

Turning his head, Harry watched as the gargoyle resumed its position atop the stone that hid the spiral staircase, its wicked claws spread and its heavy wings flared. His shoulders slumped in relief, his eyes slipping closed. He was physically exhausted and emotionally drained, but he was alive. Slowly, he peeled his eyes open and glanced to his left, noting the smug smirk on his companion's face. "What are you so happy about?" He grumbled, beginning a tired plod in the direction of his rooms.

"Please, Potter," the blond purred, giving a dismissive wave of one hand. "Did you not just witness that amazing performance? We had that old coot so confused he didn't know what to believe." A soft chuckle slipped over his lips and he turned to look at the dark-haired wizard, silver eyes flashing with a delight edged in darkness.

Malfoy wasn't alone in there, Harry realized, staring into those burning orbs. The blond's wolf was spurring the wizard on, making him more aggressive than usual. Swallowing, he shifted his gaze back to the shadowed corridor before them, trying to ignore the amusement seeking to override his weariness. "'My father's going to hear about this?' You call that an amazing performance?" He mocked, pushing the wolf and its emotions back to where they belonged.

Any rebuke Malfoy may have made was lost in a bellow of outrage, the sound spinning both of them around and curling their fingers into claws. Remus emerged from the darkness behind them like a descending wraith, his amber eyes narrowed and his lips drawn back from glistening teeth. "What the hell was that, Harry?" He snapped, spittle flying as he halted a mere foot away from the pair.

"I thought you were leaving Hogwarts, former Professor Lupin," Draco drawled, lowering his hands and assuming a position of complete nonchalance. His enjoyment of the older male's anger was evident in his voice, his eyes shimmering with obvious pleasure.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Remus spat. His gaze was locked on the younger werewolf, muscles tensing in preparation of an attack.

The blond laughed softly at the sharp reply, sliding his hands into his pockets and beginning a lazy prowl around Lupin, his eyes sliding up and down the older male's taut form. "So you haven't managed to smother it yet, eh, Lupin? It's still alive in there, whispering its naughty little suggestions to you. I'd bet my life on it that right now it's telling you to rip my throat out, hm?"

"Fuck off, puppy!" Remus snarled the insult, his body quivering as the blond passed beyond his range of sight. He turned his head quickly, bringing the other male back into view. Malfoy was acting extremely aggressive and almost . . . territorial. The realization sent a shiver up his spine, his stomach beginning a slow roll as his eyes snapped toward Harry.

Stopping beside Harry, Draco gave a slow shake of his head. "You're not wolf enough to put me in my place, dog," he returned coolly. His comment garnered a vicious growl, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. The answering rumble that vibrated his throat could have been the prelude to a fight, if it wasn't cut off by a hand curling around his upper arm.

"That's enough, Draco," Harry murmured, tugging the blond backwards. Inside his head, the wolf was practically crooning with excitement, its eagerness bringing goosebumps to his skin. Anger and fear were strong in his nose, the scents a titillating combination. He gave his head a small shake, trying to free himself from the wolf's urges. His fingers tightened around Draco's arm as he turned his gaze to Remus, noting the extremely hostile look on the older werewolf's face. "I really don't think there's anything else to say here."

"Hear me out, Harry," Remus pleaded, extending a hand toward the dark-haired male. He clamped his jaw against the growl that threatened to spill over his lips at Malfoy's amused snort, lowering his hand and drawing a deep calming breath. "I want you to come home with me - home to Grimmauld Place. It'll be just the two of us. I promise you'll be safe there."

A bitter laugh escaped Harry. "Safe from what? I'm at Hogwarts, Remus, under the watchful eyes of Dumbledore. What possible danger could I be in?" Beneath his fingers Malfoy's muscles jumped, the invisible change causing him to stiffen, his gaze sweeping the surrounding shadows carefully. When he found nothing of interest in the pressing darkness, he turned his gaze back to Lupin, though his fingers retained their tight grip on the blond's bicep.

Remus's eyes flicked to Malfoy before returning to Harry. "I can smell him on you - Fenrir Greyback. Him and that mangy pack he keeps." He smiled at the slight widening of the raven-haired werewolf's orbs, the obvious surprise vanishing quickly behind a mask of bored indifference. "Scent never lies, Harry. It's like a map to where you've been and who you've been with."

In one fluid motion, Harry released Malfoy's arm and moved toward Remus, closing the short distance between them until their chests were almost touching. "You lost the right to question my actions when you locked me in a cage," he hissed. Hurt flickered across Remus's face, the emotion causing a surge of triumph to race through Harry's body. Drawing a deep breath, he whirled around and walked back toward Malfoy, ignoring the satisfied look on the blond's face. "He made me a very tempting offer by the way," he called over his shoulder. A warning growl from Malfoy had him spinning around, his left hand closing around Lupin's wrist inches away from his arm.

Remus stared in shock at the hand clamped around his wrist, his eyes darting up to meet Harry's fierce gaze. "Was that before or after his pack beat you?" He demanded, tugging on his arm.

Fingers tightening, Harry smiled slowly, knowing the grin was extremely toothy. "You're a bloody hypocrite, Moony." He released the older werewolf with a rough shove, watching him stumble backwards and fall against the corridor wall. "Since I was bitten you've locked me in an attic and drugged me. What makes you any better than Greyback? At least he was up front about how it was going to be."

"How can you say that?" Remus whispered, steadying himself against the cold stone of the wall at his back. There was a slight tremor in his voice, the emotion which inspired it a mystery.

Staring at the wizard he'd once admired, Harry gave a slow shake of his head. "Because it's the truth," he said quietly. He took a small step backwards, retreating into the concealing darkness of the shifting shadows. "Good-bye, Remus." The simple statement rang with a finality that would once have brought tears to his eyes. Today, after the disagreement they'd just had, it merely left a bitter taste in his mouth. Without glancing at Malfoy, he turned and fled down the hallway, allowing his feet to carry him where they would.

Remus had once been a mentor to him; a friend and ally who'd taught him what he needed to know. Together, they'd mourned Sirius, his loss a wound no one else could feel or heal. And now, after everything they had been through, they were parting ways over something petty and uncontrollable.

Harry's feet slowed and then stopped, the transition from movement to stillness bringing his chin up. Slowly, he glanced about, searching for the cause of his sudden halt, and finding it when Draco slipped free of the shadows. He watched the blond approach silently, not knowing the reason for his presence, and not really caring.

The wolf was a curious mix of wariness and interest within his skull, its wavering emotions forcing Harry to hold his ground. A nervous rumble escaped him, the warning bringing Draco to quick halt several feet away. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, lost in their own thoughts. And then the blond spoke in that stiff and cultured voice of his, the angle of his chin indicating the uncertainty of the reception he was going to receive.

"Are you all right?"

The question hung in the air a minute before Harry dipped his chin in response. He shifted when the silence lengthened, finally breaking it with a mumbled, "Tired."

A small smile lifted the corners of the blond's mouth, the grin appearing slightly cynical. "It's been a long day," he murmured in agreement. He stared steadily at Harry before dipping his head, his lashes lowering to hide his eyes. "I'd wish you a goodnight, Potter, but I'll see you later seems more appropriate considering the circumstances - and the hour." Bowing his head, the blond pivoted on the heel of one boot and walked down the corridor they'd come, quickly vanishing in the darkness.

Harry stared at the spot Draco had disappeared, his shoulders slumping in relief. He was glad the blond hadn't wanted to engage in idle chatter, because his mind was to tired to play the intricate word games Malfoy seemed to adore. Inhaling wearily, he resumed the slow plod toward his chamber, internally praying the short journey would be uninterrupted. He reached his rooms several minutes later without incident. With his eyes at half-mast, he stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed face down on the comforter, allowing Morpheus to take him without a second thought.

XxXxX

Lunch was probably the most chaotic meal at Hogwarts. Students entered the Hall alone or in large boisterous groups, calling out greetings and questions to their peers and housemates. Forks clattered against plates and glasses clinked as salads and sandwiches were devoured. Laughter rang out, adding to the riotous atmosphere.

And through it all, Harry sat by himself at the Gryffindor table, observing the behaviour of his classmates through tired eyes. Not so long ago, he would have been a member of one of those small groups. He would have sat between Ron and Neville and joked and argued with Seamus and Dean. Perhaps they would have discussed the latest House Quidditch match, or maybe groaned about the homework assignment McGonagall had given them.

Dropping his gaze, he stared at the half-eaten turkey sandwich on his plate. He should have been starving, but his appetite was disturbingly absent. This morning he'd skipped breakfast in favour of sleeping an extra forty minutes, not that the extra time had done him any good. His eyes were still heavy and his mind slow, even the wolf was nothing more than a faint whisper in the back of his skull. Smothering a yawn, he pushed his plate away and glanced down the length of the table, stiffening at the scene unfolding before his eyes.

Ron was whispering furiously into Hermione's ear, one hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, his grip keeping her from leaving the table. The redhead's face was flush with anger, his eyes blazing as he berated the witch in an angry hiss. Across from the duo, Seamus and Dean sat in stunned silence, their mouths gaping as Hermione shot to her feet and jerked her arm out of Ron's grasp. Glaring at the redhead, the witch scooped up her book bag and stormed from the Great Hall, ignoring the curious murmurs that rose in the wake of her sudden departure.

A soft rumble trickled over Harry's lips, the sound lost in the cacophony of the Great Hall. Emerald orbs flashing with newfound hatred, the dark-haired wizard grabbed his bag and shot to his feet, stalking quickly after Hermione. He caught Ron's gaze as he strode past the other wizard, their eyes locking for a brief moment before the redhead paled and glanced hurriedly away. Giving his head a furious wag to rid himself of the wolf's murderous murmurs, Harry trailed Hermione through the hallways, not at all surprised by her final destination.

The witch was already seated at an empty table when he located her among the tall book shelves, her attention centered on the parchment she held between her hands. Her gaze flicked up to meet his and her lips trembled slightly before firming, her expression growing welcoming as she tucked the parchment into her potions text book. "Harry, you look terrible." Hermione commented, clearing her throat as she offered the wizard a shaky smile.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said dryly. Glancing around, he dropped his bag carelessly on the floor and dragged a chair out, collapsing gracelessly onto the hard seat. With a heavy sigh, he folded his arms on the table and rested his head atop them, closing his eyes tiredly.

"You didn't really go to bed when you left last night, did you?" Hermione asked, her voice perfectly level. She didn't bother to glance at the dark-haired wizard, just went about the process of arranging her books and parchment on the table before her. Of course, she didn't need to look at him when her tone said it all.

With a groan, Harry lifted his head from his arms and studied the witch, watching as she organized her books and papers just so on the desk before her. "No," he admitted after a moment's hesitation. He winced when Hermione's head rose, her gaze turning suspicious when he failed to elaborate. Her soft huff had him raising a hand and rubbing his face, avoiding the knowing look she'd fastened on him.

"Were you working on the History assignment?" The witch asked, studying him closely as her hands stilled.

Harry couldn't meet her gaze, nor could he bring himself to lie to her. Hermione had stood by him through one of the most difficult times of his life, she deserved the truth. Straightening in his chair, he carefully scanned the shelves and surrounding tables before leaning toward the witch, beckoning her closer with a twitch of one finger. "I went out last night, Hermione," he confessed in a quiet voice.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise at the whisper. "Out where?" She questioned, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"The Hog's Head, to be exact." His eyes slid away from the witch's, focusing on the shelves behind her. He stiffened when something shifted in the darkness, his narrowed emeralds meeting the shimmering silver orbs of Draco. His fingers curled around the edge of the table, nails biting into the hard wood as the blond held his gaze before turning and disappearing between the shadowed stacks. "I had a meeting with an acquaintance of Fenrir Greyback. He wants me to join him, Hermione."

The witch jerked upright in her seat, her mouth hanging open as she gaped at him in a combination of horror and disbelief. "No, Harry," she whispered, beginning to shake her head back and forth.

"I can't stay here," Harry muttered, reaching across the table and catching the witch's hand. He gently rolled back her sleeve and eyed the swollen skin encircling her wrist, Ron's fingerprints already visible on the bruised flesh. "Hogwarts isn't really safe for either of us as long as I'm here. If I leave, Ron will stop harassing you."

Hermione gave her head a sharp shake, her eyes wide with confusion. "I don't understand," she hissed, tugging her hand free of Harry's light grasp. "Everything was fine when we came back from holidays. I mean, Ron was acting like a complete arse - but that's not exactly unusual for him. It's Remus, isn't it? What did he say to you, Harry?" The witch guessed, her eyes narrowing when the dark-haired wizard flinched at the other male's name.

A bitter bark of laughter escaped Harry, the sound seeming to bounce around the vaulted ceiling of the library before falling silent. "It's not so much as what he's _said_, Hermione, but what he's _done_. That first full moon when I should have been safe and comfortable in a room at Grimmauld Place, I was here - locked in a cell in the dungeons. A fucking cell, Hermione. I spent my childhood locked in a cupboard, I'm not about to let anyone lock me up anywhere again." The last few words were practically snarled, the memories of that cupboard enough to raise the wolf's hackles.

Hermione attempted to hush Harry with a placating hand, glancing quickly about to see if the wizard's raised voice had caught anyone's attention. "You're going to get us kicked out if you don't calm down," she hissed in warning. She lowered her hand when Harry sat back in his seat and drew a deep breath, the dangerous glow in his eyes waning. "That's perfectly understandable, Harry, but why Greyback? Surely, there's someplace else Dumbledore can send you?"

"I want to go to Greyback." Harry was almost surprised by the conviction in his voice. "The Ministry has been after him for years, yet they've never come close to catching him. He has the knowledge I need, Hermione. A Hogwarts education may help me get a job as an Auror, but it's never going to help me defeat Voldemort. I need Greyback and what he knows."

It was the look on Harry's face that convinced Hermione he was telling her the truth. He was speaking from the heart, and the head, an extremely unusual occurrence. Slowly, she nodded in agreement. Drawing a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and asked the burning question at the forefront of her thoughts. "When are you leaving?"

"That's not really up to me," Harry replied, "But when I do know I'll tell you. I won't leave without saying goodbye, Hermione, I promise." He waited for the witch to voice some form of protest, nearly slumping in his seat when she merely nodded her head in acceptance. Once again he reached across the table and caught her hand, this time squeezing it gently before releasing the slender digits and rising. He grabbed the strap of his book bag before turning and walking away, glancing over his shoulder only once as he vanished between the shelves.

XxXxX

The water of the lake churned roughly against the wind's taunting fingers, white caps appearing here and there in the dark liquid. Snow began a silent descent from the cloudy skies, the flakes swirling down in a graceless dance to settle gently upon the hardened earth. Those same white

crystals landed amongst the dark locks of Harry's hair, beginning to melt almost instantaneously. Tipping his head back, he shut his eyes and inhaled the cool air deeply, savouring the taste of winter upon his tongue. When he reopened his eyes it was to stare miserably at the choppy waters, his thoughts centered on the conversation he'd had earlier with Hermione.

The hair on the back of his neck rose unexpectedly, the feeling causing him to stiffen at the same time the wolf surfaced, its interest peaked by something in the cold air. One deep breath had his shoulders slumping, his head turning to watch Draco pick his way carefully across the icy stones to where he stood. Though the blond's eyes were on the rocks he cautiously traversed, his attention was clearly not, his lips pursed in obvious thought and his brow wrinkled. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his heavy cloak, Harry listened to the wolf's curious whispers as Malfoy approached.

"Potter," Draco murmured in greeting, halting alongside the raven-haired wizard. He pivoted on the heel of one expensive boot, mirroring Harry's relaxed stance, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the crashing waters.

Harry's lips curled into a sardonic smile, emerald orbs flicking in the blond's direction before returning to the lake. "Malfoy," he returned after a moment's hesitation. For several minutes they stood in silence, watching the snow swirl teasingly above the dark waves. Finally, he stirred restlessly, shuffling his feet in the gathering snow. "Why are you following me?"

"Boredom, mostly," the blond replied quietly. "Although I must admit to a certain amount of curiousity as well." He rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth and exhaled, his breath forming a cloud before him that was quickly stolen by the wind.

Arching a brow at the unexpected answer, Harry returned his attention to the lake. Within his boots his toes had begun to burn with the cold, the warming charm he'd placed on them having worn off long ago. He had another question for Malfoy, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. Internally sighing, he squared his shoulders and spoke. "When do we leave?"

Draco lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Greyback will send for us. It may be tomorrow . . . or it may be in three weeks. Either way, it's at the Alpha's discretion." Eyes the colour of the storm clouds overhead shifted to the dark-haired male, the cold stare becoming calculating. "What did you say to Granger?"

Breath catching at the question, Harry dropped his gaze to the toes of his boots. There was really only one word that described everything he'd said to Hermione. A simple, single word which he was growing very adept at using. "Good-bye. I said 'good-bye', Malfoy." Raising his chin, he met the blond's gaze, knowing his misery and anger were swirling undisguised in the depths of his eyes.

"Ah," Draco murmured, turning his gaze back toward the lake. Again, they stood in an almost companionable silence, neither speaking nor shifting their positions. Perhaps they could have remained like that forever, standing unseen by the lake in the middle of a delicate snowfall, but the wind picked up and the snow fell harder, the fluffy flakes turning into chips of ice that stung their cheeks.

Hissing in displeasure, the blond flipped the hood of his cloak up and turned to leave, stilling when he realized his companion remained unmoving. "For what it's worth, Harry, I'm sorry," he said quietly. Bowing his head almost formally, he resumed his trek toward the castle, his dark cloak billowing out behind him.

Despite the honesty in Malfoy's voice, the words he spoke meant little to Harry. Sorry couldn't repair his relationship with Ron or Remus, nor could it stave off the inevitable fact that he was going to have to leave the only real home he'd ever known. Standing on the bank of Hogwarts' lake in the middle of a blinding snowstorm, Harry felt as alone as he had when he'd lived with the Dursleys. Felt the same despair and grief he'd felt when Sirius died. Remembered the loneliness of summers spent locked in a cupboard beneath the stairs. Swallowing, he focused his eyes on the rolling waters, pretending that it was only the whipping snow that caused his cheeks to sting, and not the tears sliding slowly down his face.

* * *

A/n: Sorry for the extremely long wait between updates, and thank-you for the many wonderful reviews. Once again, sorry, though I do hope you're all still enjoying the story.


	9. Hunted

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Chapter Nine - Hunted**

* * *

Bewildered hoots echoed through the cold stone tower, the soft cacophony accompanied by the rustle and flutter of dozens of pairs of wings. Several stray feathers drifted slowly to the floor, lost in the sudden chaos caused by the arrival of the individual standing bemused in the doorway. When the dander and snow finally settled, the Owlry was nearly empty, only a handful of birds remaining perched in the uppermost reaches of the tower, their eyes wary and their feet shifting nervously on the narrow stone ledges.

From the archway of the Owlry, Harry stared in stupefied silence at the abandoned alcoves along the wall. Frowning, he stepped into the circular tower, his gaze sweeping the shadows in search of Hedwig. His shoulders slumped with dismay when he found the Snowy Owl perched beside a large Barn Owl, the pair watching him from the highest point of the room. Absently, he bounced the owl treats in his left hand up and down, deciding that three wasn't going to be nearly enough to coax Hedwig from her lofty perch. Shaking his head, he walked into the chamber and carefully set the treats on the lip of the large bird bath, shooting the watchful owls an unhappy glance before pacing toward one of the tall windows.

With a heavy sigh, he placed his hands on the cold stone sill, gazing out at the forest stretched before him. Visiting Hedwig had merely been an attempt to stave off the restlessness he was feeling, that and a chance to escape the pressing confines of the castle. The bitter wind and cold temperatures were keeping the majority of students within the walls of Hogwarts, meaning that all the common areas and halls were filled with shrieking, squealing students hell bent on keeping themselves entertained. For Harry that meant a terrible headache and an extremely irritated wolf that continuously whispered suggestions of a decidedly deadly nature in his ear.

The hurried tap of boots on stone turned his head, his eyes widening perceptibly when Ginny came rushing into the Owlry, a fold of parchment clutched in one gloved hand. She stumbled to a halt when her eyes landed on him, making a small sound in the back of her throat before backpedaling several steps. He stopped her quick retreat with a hand raised in silent entreaty, watching sadly as she nervously glanced around the abandoned chamber. "Hey, Ginny," he said quietly in greeting.

"Harry," Ginny murmured, fingers curling in the heavy cloth of her old cloak. She shuffled her feet on the dirty floor as her gaze darted around the empty Owlry, avoiding the glowing emeralds pinned on her. "I've, ah . . . I was just going to send an owl to Mum." An anxious laugh bubbled up her throat, the sound causing her cheeks to flush as it echoed in the cold winter air. Clearing her throat with a delicate cough, she glanced hopefully around the Owlry in search of an available owl.

Harry's eyes followed the witch's gaze, noting the exact moment she realized the handful of remaining owls belonged to other students. Feeling suddenly gracious, and despite the wolf's mutinous rumbles, he gestured upward, directing Ginny's attention to the Snowy Owl perched high above their heads. "You can use Hedwig if you want," he offered, nearly smirking as the owl ruffled her feathers in disgust. "I'm sure she can use the exercise."

Appearing extremely unnerved by the offer, Ginny shifted her weight back and forth between her right foot and her left. "I suppose I could," she said, uncertainty ringing in her voice. She stared up at the owl doubtfully, frowning as the parchment in her hand crinkled almost tauntingly.

Not really caring whether or not she took him up on the offer, Harry gave a lazy roll of his shoulders and strolled toward the portal. His eyes caught the sudden tensing of the witch's body, the way her shoulders stiffened and her face paled as he moved in her direction. He brushed by Ginny casually, the stench of her fear strong in his nose. When he reached the arching doorway that gave way to the long flight of stairs that spiraled ever downward, he halted, turning back to peer thoughtfully at the witch. "Why are you so afraid of me?" He asked in a calm whisper, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around the stone balustrade behind him.

If it was possible, Ginny grew even more nervous, her heart lunging into a furious gallop within her chest. She turned carefully to face the raven-haired male, swallowing when she saw he stood squarely in the center of the doorway, his solid frame easily filling the narrow archway. Unconsciously, her hands slid over the pockets of her cloak, identifying the comforting length of the wand resting there. "Because you're _not_ afraid of it," she replied simply. At his confused look, she elaborated. "You don't understand what it's capable of doing - what _you're_ capable of doing. You may think you can control it, but that's only because it lets you. Werewolves are driven by instinct and the most powerful instinct of all is survival. If it felt something or someone was threatening its existence, it would destroy them without a second thought. That's why I'm afraid of you, Harry."

Harry shook his head slowly, denying everything the witch was saying. "You're wrong, Ginny." His voice was rough with emotion as he uncurled his fingers from the balustrade. "Whoever you've been talking to has been filling your head with lies. I control the wolf. Despite what Ron wants you to believe, I'm still the same Harry Potter you've known since your first year. The same Harry Potter who _saved_ your life that same year. And I would never hurt you - or anyone else. If you don't want to believe me than at least talk to Hermione, just stop listening to the bullshit your brother's spewing." Giving his head a hard shake, Harry swung around and began the long climb down the spiraling stairs.

Ron's blatant attempts at sabotaging his friendships were beginning to irk him. It seemed the redhead had done nothing but manufacture malicious stories since their return to Hogwarts, trying to tarnish Harry's character in any way possible. From his childhood to his sexual orientation, Ron had started the rumours winging. And while Harry may have grown accustomed to the hateful hisses of the Slytherins over the past five years, it was an entirely different matter to hear the lies from the lips of Gryffindors.

A rumble reverberated in his throat, the sound startlingly animalistic. Halting abruptly on the well-trodden path between the castle and the Owlry, Harry closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Almost immediately he felt calmer. He inhaled again and felt the last remnants of his anger fade.

Even the easily agitated wolf grew silent and still, the confrontation that had occurred moments ago with Ginny seemingly forgotten. Eyes flicking open, Harry began a slow glide down the path, his boots noiseless on the snowy trail. Birds bantered cheerfully back and forth overhead, their calls sounding as harmonious as that of church bells. Somewhere within the trees that bordered the path, snow fell heavily from a branch and landed with a soft whomp. And although he scanned the surrounding forest with lazy eyes, the wolf was ever attentive, carefully noting each set of prints that meandered between the trees and the various scents wafting upon the wind.

_Deer_, the wolf muttered, attention on the dainty heart-shaped prints wending through the oaks. _Fleet. Maneuverable. Can feed an entire pack, but impossible to take alone._

Harry barely stopped himself from flinching at the wolf's matter-of-fact attitude. To the beast, such thoughts were reasonable, even logical. Trying to shrug away the grim murmur, Harry tipped his chin upwards, closing his eyes as the sun's rays struck his face for the first time in three days. His cheeks tingled as warmth infused them and he opened his eyes, taking a long indrawn breath - that stopped him abruptly in midstride. His nose fairly twitched and he took another tentative sniff, allowing his brain to sort through the various smells that hung in the air. Mint; a spicy cologne; the faintest whiff of caesar dressing; coffee and vanilla; a hint of smoke with an incredibly acrid taste to it. And the wolf purred to life with an interest Harry recognized.

Emerald orbs closing on a muted groan, he dropped his chin and glared at the path, picking out the freshest prints on the well worn trail. Atop his boot marks and those left by Ginny lay another set, these ones branching off and heading down a secondary path that led around the castle. Heaving an audibly heavy sigh, he jammed his hands into his pockets and followed that third set of tracks.

He found his target minutes later standing on the long bridge that stretched between Hogwarts and the forest beyond, seemingly absorbed in the piece of parchment held loosely between his hands. Seeing the blond's obvious distraction, and perhaps taken just the slightest bit by the wolf's exuberance at finding Draco, Harry allowed his head to drop and his shoulders to rise, taking on the classic stalk posture. Despite the fact that he was upwind of the other male, he crept stealthily forward, his feet unerringly finding the newest boards on the bridge, avoiding those that might creak or groan in protest at any applied weight. His soundless approach halted when the blond turned bored eyes in his direction, one pale brow lifting in a perfect bow-shaped arc.

"Potter," Draco drawled, his amusement read quite easily upon his features.

"Malfoy," Harry returned in the same tone. He straightened and strode casually forward until he reached the blond's side, lazily mirroring Draco's languid lean against the bridge's railing. Settling his weight on his forearms, he gazed down at the jutting and doubtlessly sharp rocks meters below, pondering his chances of survival should the shoddily repaired railing snap and send him swan-diving towards possible death. "Interesting read?" He asked moments later, indicating the blond's letter with a flick of a finger.

Giving an inelegant snort, Draco folded the parchment in half and dragged his fingers roughly down the crease, the gesture more telling than the expression on his pale face. "Interesting visit?" He countered, shooting a knowing look at the dark-haired wizard from beneath his bangs.

Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, a soft sound of noncommital falling from his mouth. He tapped his fingers lightly together, glancing in the direction of the castle as a spattering of loud conversation reached his ears, the sharp cries undoubtedly carried by the cool wind. Beside him, Draco began to shred the letter, tearing the parchment meticulously into long strips that he then released to flutter down to the waiting rocks beneath them. "About as enjoyable as your letter, apparently," he finally said, watching the shredded parchment swirl and spin in the breeze.

Draco smiled ruefully, silver orbs locked on the last strip of parchment fluttering helplessly between two of his fingers. "A note from my favourite bootmaker kindly informing me that there was a complication with my transaction and they had to cancel my entire order." Slender digits parted, freeing the final piece of parchment to dance wildly upon the wind.

Harry stared blankly at the blond for several seconds, trying to think of an appropriately sympathetic response to the other wizard's plight. For a moment he considered asking the Slytherin if he really needed another pair of boots, but he quickly discarded the question after imagining its icy reception. "That's . . . terrible," he finally managed, brows drawing down when Draco shot him a wry look.

Giving his head a slight shake at the dark-haired wizard's naive reply, Draco reached into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew a packet of letters tied together with a mauve ribbon. He offered the package silently to Harry, staring thoughtfully at the forest as the other male leafed through the stack of letters. "My father cut me off, Potter. Financially disowned me as it were." To his ears the admission sounded like a guilty confession, as if he found his sudden descent into poverty incredibly mortifying. "It wasn't at all unexpected, of course. Merely a matter of time, really." He rallied quickly, ignoring the sharp stab of pain he felt at his father's financial abandonment and the true meaning behind it.

"I'm so sorry, Draco." Harry whispered, staring down at a letter from a notoriously expensive tailor. He turned his head and looked at the blond, noting the deceptive burn in the other male's silvery spheres that belied the note of indifference in his voice.

"Don't be." Draco bit out. "I've been withdrawing the maximum amount I'm allowed from the Manor's accounts for the last few months. Hocked a handful of Lucius's rare dark artifacts. Parted with a few priceless family heirlooms left in my possession. I even sold some rather sensitive information to the highest bidder I could find." The tone in which he stated his recent activities was completely casual, as if they were merely discussing the weather or Quidditch.

Harry stared at the blond in open-mouthed shock, unsure once again of the appropriate response - or even if there was one. He finally convinced his jaw muscles to work, closing his mouth with an audible click of teeth that had Draco turning to look at him Harry stared at the blond in open-mouthed shock, unsure once again of the appropriate response - or even if there was one. He finally convinced his jaw muscles to work, closing his mouth with an audible click of teeth that had Draco turning to look at him. "That's . . . interesting," he managed in a hoarse whisper. He grinned wryly when Draco burst into laughter at his reply, giving an embarrassed wag of his head as he watched the Slytherin snicker. When the blond had quieted, Harry changed the subject, deciding it was best to move onto a different topic before the other wizard confessed to something of a more sinister nature.

"So, I ran into Ginny in the Owlry," he began, pushing away from the railing and walking to the opposite side of the bridge. "And she had gall to call me a monster." He didn't know why he felt the need to discuss his conversation with the witch with Draco, only that it seemed fair after the blond's admission. He propped a shoulder against one of the thick support posts and tucked his hands into the deep pockets of his robes for warmth, eyeing the snow laden branches of the trees just beyond the grounds of Hogwarts. Breathing deeply, he followed the path of a large scruffy raven with his eyes, watching as the bird winged from tree to tree, its cry extremely raucous.

Draco moved to stand alongside Harry, his attention likewise going to the raven creating a very loud commotion across the ravine. "A monster, Potter? Please, you're about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit." His eyes narrowed when the black bird gave a particularly loud squawk, its continued presence causing him to shift closer to Harry, a growl of warning trickling unheeded over his lips.

Harry froze at the soft rumble, his eyes darting worriedly to the blond. "Is everything okay?" He asked in a wary voice. He was surprised when Draco turned to look at him, his silvery orbs glittering unnaturally in the afternoon sunlight. "I think I'm going to head in now. Hermione's probably waiting for me in library," he murmured, taking a small step back. He stiffened when the other wizard extended a graceful hand, the cold digits brushing lightly along his cheek before being withdrawn.

"I'll catch up with you later," Draco murmured softly, his focus still on the raven. He fluttered a hand as if dismissing the raven-haired wizard and swung around, beginning a gliding prowl down the long length of the wooden bridge.

Shaking his head at the dismissal, Harry turned and walked toward the castle, pondering everything he'd just learned. Werewolf creeds and the true definition of monster, Draco was being extremely forthright today - how unusual. Sighing, he tromped on in the direction of Hogwarts, the wolf whispering quietly in his head.

XxXxX

Harry ducked back inside the castle and tugged the heavy door closed behind him, a small frown creasing his brow at the dull thud that seemed to echo the length of the long hallway. Shrugging the sound away, he stomped the clinging snow from his boots and pushed his winter cloak back over his shoulders, loosening the ties with numb fingers as he paced quietly down the corridor. His strides shortened when the wolf whispered along the fringes of his conscious, its words those of caution and care. Brow furrowing, he glanced appraisingly around, searching the shadowed length of hallway for whatever had disturbed the wolf. Gliding his tongue across his lips, he set his eyes on the hallway ahead and resumed his course, deciding it was probably best not to linger in the empty corridor.

It wasn't until he was almost upon the first intersecting hallway that his ears picked up the soft murmur of lowered voices, the furtive hisses accompanied by the scuff of boots and rustle of robes. He stilled immediately, his winter cloak swinging gently back and forth with its continued momentum until it finally settled against his legs. His heart pounded in his ears as his chest rose and fell slowly, his entire being focusing on the adjoining hallway that lay ahead. The whispering voices quieted, throwing the corridor into silence once more.

_Ambush_, the wolf warned.

Nonsense, Harry replied, though he began to share the wolf's growing sense of unease. It was probably just some third years set on pranking whoever happened across their path, nothing to get all paranoid about. Besides, they were safe within the walls of Hogwarts. Giving a firm nod of his head at the reassuring thought, he lifted a foot to continue down the corridor and froze instead, eyes locked on the familiar head of red-hair peeping around the corner. The wolf rose to the surface with a furious howl, the sound almost slipping over his lips. Weasley.

Realizing he'd been spotted, Ron walked out into the center of the passage, his blue eyes narrowed with hatred. "Potter," he fairly spat, hands curling into balls against his thighs. The smug smirk he wore grew as the group he'd gathered followed him out into the hallway, forming a loose semicircle around him that quite effectively cut off the raven-haired male's easiest route of escape.

Drawing a slow breath, Harry arched a single dark brow in silent query, his eyes sliding over the assembled group. Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. That wasn't the final headcount, though. The group was rounded out by his fellow Gryffindors - Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Colin Creevey. His chest tightened at the sight, grief momentarily overwhelming him. His friends, those he'd once laughed and lived with, gathered against him. "Ron." The redhead's name was laced with a loathing so thick that the entire group actually flinched.

"We need to talk," Ron blustered, chin jutting upwards and arms crossed defensively across his chest. The brash statement was accompanied by much head bobbing by his companions, their unquestioning loyalty giving him the courage to continue. "About you and Malfoy."

Just perfect, Harry thought sourly, this was exactly what he needed. "Me and Malfoy?" He asked aloud, sweeping the group with a bored look. This impromptu intervention had the ability to turn ugly quickly. Although, considering the isolated location Ron had chosen for it, that's probably what the redhead intended. If Harry fucked up again, no matter what the reason, he'd be back at Grimmauld Place with a collar around his neck, and they both knew it.

"Show him, Colin," Ron snapped, shoving the other wizard forward.

Harry didn't like the gleeful look on the redhead's face. Emerald orbs narrowing, he shifted his gaze to Creevey, watching the younger wizard shuffle fearfully forward. He lowered his gaze when the fifth-year Gryffindor thrust a hand toward him, the sheaf of papers he held practically flapping with his nervousness. Not papers, Harry realized, fingers closing around the stack, pictures. His mouth went dry and he swallowed loudly, his eyes jerking up to meet Ron's triumphant gaze. Gritting his teeth, he turned his attention to the first picture, the glossy image causing dread to slowly churn his stomach.

Standing side by side, he and Draco stood on the rocky shore of the lake, their body language appearing quite amicable. Palms growing damp, he slid the picture to the bottom of the pile, quickly noting that the next image was no better than the first. He and Draco in the library, sitting cozily in a shadowed alcove. Dread growing, he shuffled through the remaining pictures until he reached the last one. This one, he thought, this one was the most damning of all. He and Draco on the bridge mere minutes ago, their chests nearly pressed together, one of the blond's hands resting lightly against his cheek. Shuffling the pictures into a neat pile, he slowly lifted his head, wondering what the redhead had planned.

"Ah, Malfoy and I," Harry murmured softly. He swept the group with a contemptuous glance before returning his gaze to Ron and rolling one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Coincidence," he suggested smoothly, tapping the pictures against the palm of his left hand. He watched Ron's face redden at the blatant lie, satisfaction causing his lips to pull up at the corners.

"Coincidence!" Ron screeched shrilly. The redhead pointed a finger at the photos Harry held, the digit appearing to shake with his apparent rage. "Eight pictures of you and Malfoy together is not coincidence - it's proof." He gave a forceful nod of his head, daring the raven-haired wizard to argue with him.

"I see," Harry said agreeably. Lips pursed, he tossed a quick peek down the corridor behind him, eyeing the door that remained unguarded at his back. He could leave right now if he really wanted too. Turn tail and run, enter the castle through the front door where there was sure to be a crowd of students. Of course, that wouldn't really solve the problem. No, this encounter would simply occur on another day in a similar location. With a barely audible sigh, he returned his attention to Ron, lifting a brow curiously. "Proof of what exactly?"

Ron's mouth opened and then closed, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Of your fraternizing with the enemy," he said in a hiss.

Harry's brows both shot up at the accusation and he was unable to contain a snort of amused derision. "Fraternizing, Ron? Is that what I've been doing? All these pictures prove is that Malfoy and I sometimes turn up in the same place at the same time. And since we both live and attend class here, they're easily explainable and completely worthless." His gaze moved past the redhead to the pack of wizards that stood behind him, reading their expressions carefully.

"That's bullshit!" Ron yelled, the bellow ringing loudly in the empty hallway. "And we all know it, Potter."

"You do sit next to him in class sometimes," Neville mumbled quietly. The tall wizard glanced nervously back and forth between Harry and Ron, not liking the look on either of their faces or the tension building in the air. When blazing emeralds were turned on him, he swallowed and dropped his gaze to the toes of his boots, saying softly, "Only when there's nowhere else to sit, though."

"There, you see," Harry purred, pouncing on Neville's mumbled words. "Coincidence. Now, unless you have some actual 'proof' of me cavorting with Malfoy, I'm going to go to the kitchens and get some hot chocolate." He took one step forward and stilled, narrowed orbs locked on the wand held level with his sternum. Inside his skull the wolf stirred, its presence rolling through him like a ripple in a pool.

A harsh laugh filled the corridor, its tenor vibrating with vindictiveness. "I don't think so, Harry," Ron sneered, giving a threatening flick of his wand. "You see, we all saw you on the bridge with Malfoy. Saw him touch your face - like a lover might."

The thought nearly made Harry smile. "So now Malfoy and I are secret lovers, is that it? My, you've certainly outdone yourself this time, Ron." There was a deadly undercurrent to the sarcastic purr, a burgeoning tension that had Ron's companions retreating several cautious steps. The wolf whispered for action, a quick demonstration that would have the group fleeing for their lives. He ignored the angry grumble, choosing instead to favour the redhead with a toothy grin. "Perhaps you're just jealous," he murmured suggestively.

Ron's face turned a fiery shade of red and he flicked his wrist sharply, his shouted spell sending Harry tumbling backwards into the wall. When the raven-haired wizard dropped to the floor, he glided victoriously forward, halting to stand gloatingly over the other male. "You're a dead man, Potter," he sneered.

Harry lay on the ground, his arms and legs bound tightly to his sides. A furious snarl rolled up his throat, the sound abruptly cut off when the toe of a boot connected soundly with his ribs. He turned glowing orbs on Ron and curled his lips back from his teeth, unable to contain his rage. He hadn't believed the redhead would actually attack him. Had assumed Ron would be too concerned with the consequences to take the risk. But from his place on the cold stone floor, he could see the redhead's conviction, see the resolve burning in his blue eyes. And as the other male lifted a heavy boot and slammed it into his side, he realized he'd been lying to himself.

He'd known it would come down to this.

As the boot fell again, causing stars to dance behind his eyes, the wolf exploded within him. It rose in a dark wave, spiraling ever closer to the surface, consuming him completely and sending him tumbling into unconsciousness.

When he resurfaced moments later, it was to find himself pinned against one of the corridor's walls. Scrambling to get his bearings, he felt the wolf withdrawing slowly, slinking submissively back to its place within him. He took a cautious breath and felt the body pressed against him shift, the arm banding his throat tighten momentarily before loosening. He tugged weakly at his hands, trying to free them from where they were held at the small of his back. Finally, realizing he couldn't slip the hold of the individual keeping him on his feet, he stopped struggling, allowing his forehead to rest lightly against the stone wall before him.

"Feeling better, Harry?" A cool voice drawled into his ear, the individual's tone laced with an amusement easily recognizable.

"Draco," Harry mumbled, closing his eyes briefly. He reopened them when the arm around his throat vanished and his hands were released. Carefully, he turned over, keeping his shoulders pressed tightly against the wall at his back, and immediately wished he hadn't. The hall was littered with bodies. Blood pooled on the floor and arced up the walls, and he stood untouched in the midst of all that carnage. Draco moved in his peripheral vision, circling around before him to drop into a crouch next to Neville's still body.

Turning pale eyes toward the raven-haired male, Draco rose fluidly, wiping the blood from his fingers onto his robes. "Well, you've done it now, Potter." He muttered, casting his eyes around the corridor. He moved back to Harry's side, reaching out and grabbing the dark-haired male's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "We can't stay here anymore."

It took a moment for Harry to realize what the blond meant, understanding dawning slowly. There was no way Dumbledore would allow him to remain at Hogwarts after this. He'd be sent back to Grimmauld Place as soon as Remus could come and retrieve him. Giving a sharp nod of his head, he met Draco's patient gaze, and asked, "What do we do?"

Draco released Harry's chin and stepped back. "Go and pack a bag. We'll meet in fifteen minutes inside the Forbidden Forest near the Owlry. And Harry, don't stop, not for anyone or anything. If someone finds this mess before we're gone, you'll be put in a cage before you can say 'Saviour of the Wizarding World'."

"Fifteen minutes," Harry said in a rasp. He took a step away from the wall and felt his knees tremble. "Fifteen minutes," he repeated with more force. Clearing his throat, he gave a nod of understanding and started down the hallway, stepping over Ron's inert form as he went. He paused at the junction of the corridors, glancing back down the hallway in time to see Draco slip out the door he'd originally entered. For a moment he wondered where the blond was going but quickly dismissed the thought, fifteen minutes wasn't really that long in the scheme of things.

The urge to run to his rooms was strong, but the wolf whispered its first warning since the incident, telling him to appear calm and collected in the corridors. It was an admonishment that was hard to adhere to; the knowledge that the clock was running down causing sweat to dampen his forehead. Still, he took the wolf's advice, walking carefully back to his suite where he quickly began to toss things randomly into his book bag.

He paused in the middle of shoving his charms text into the bag, eyes darting to the clock on the mantle, the memory of promising Hermione to meet her in the library flitting through his mind. "Fuck," he hissed, flipping the top of the satchel closed and buckling the strap. By his calculation, he had maybe six minutes of the fifteen allotted remaining. Draco's words rang through his head, but he brushed them aside thoughtlessly, fully intending on keeping his promise to Hermione. With one last look around the room, he walked out the portal without a backwards glance.

The library was surprisingly busy when he arrived. However, it only took a handful of seconds for him to locate the witch seated among the dusty stacks. The look she gave him when he dropped into the chair beside her would have made him feel guilty in the past, today, it merely brought a sad smile to his lips. He would miss that look, he thought. He allowed the witch to lecture him about promptness for a minute before leaning forward and placing a hand on her shoulder, the gentle touch causing her to halt in mid-sentence.

"I need you to listen to me, Hermione," he said softly. Casting a cautious look at the surrounding students, he dropped his voice to a quiet murmur and met her curious gaze. "I'm leaving Hogwarts. There was an . . . accident."

"But Harry-" Hermione began, closing her mouth when the raven-haired wizard shook his head.

"There's no time," Harry explained, glancing in the direction of the doorway. "I promised you I'd say good-bye before I left, that's the only reason I'm here. I want you to take care of yourself, Hermione. I'll write to you if I can . . . when I can." He rose abruptly, his hand falling away from her shoulder. He didn't have time to answer any of her questions - his fifteen minutes had run out. Giving the witch one last apologetic look, he turned and fled, leaving her staring after him in stunned silence.

He slipped from the library and made his way toward the nearest exit, tensing when the wolf rumbled in warning. The harried tattoo of boot heels on stone had him stilling with a hand on the heavy door, glancing worriedly over his left shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight of Professors' McGonagall and Snape bearing down on him, their expressions grim. He jerked the door open and ducked quickly outside, fleeing down the stone stairs.

_Quicker_, urged the wolf.

Harry took the advice to heart, breaking into a light jog that carried him toward the forest. McGonagall called his name loudly and he sped up, nearly tripping in his haste to reach the safety of the forest. The spell that whipped by him caused his heart to leap into his throat and his strides to lengthen. When the hair on the back of his neck lifted, he dove to the snow covered ground, barely avoiding the ball of purple magic that would have connected with his shoulders.

_Up_, the wolf commanded, its attention on the tauntingly waving branches of the trees that stood just ahead.

Scrambling in the snow, Harry regained his feet and looked back at his pursuers, surprised to find them so close. Gasping for breath, he tripped closer to safety, the wolf's voice ringing in his head. His heart pounded in his ears, and after what seemed like an eternity, he reached the welcoming shadows of the Forbidden Forest. He stumbled over logs buried in snow and branches that clutched and clung mercilessly. And then the forest opened up before him, the path that led to salvation unbarred. He'd taken no more than six steps on the worn trail when Snape appeared before him, wand raised and lips already moving.

"Petrificus totalus," the Potions Master said calmly.

And it was all over. Harry lay gasping in the snow, limbs once again bound against his heaving sides, staring hatefully at the wizard walking triumphantly toward him. He could practically smell the excitement wafting off Snape, see his glee at having caught the famous Harry Potter red-handed. But then the shadows behind the tall wizard blurred and a shape took form, a pair of gleaming sapphire orbs appearing amidst the darkness. His eyes must have widened in recognition, because Snape spun around with his wand lifted. Unfortunately, the Professor was too slow. In a lightning quick move, the male lunged forward and struck Snape squarely in the chest with upraised palms, the force of the blow sending the older wizard flying into the trees.

Appearing completely unconcerned about whether or not the Potions Master was still conscious, the werewolf named Steve walked to where Harry lay motionless and withdrew a wand. A slight flick of his wrist had Harry's invisible bonds loosening. For a second he simply stared down at the younger werewolf, his expression unreadable, and then he reached his other hand down, the gesture strangely surprising. "It's time to go, Harry," he said in an urgent voice, but he made no move to grab the other male, waiting patiently for him to make the decision for himself.

Drawing a deep breath, Harry reached up and slipped his hand into Steve's, giving a barely noticeable dip of his chin. The familiar tug below his navel was the next thing he felt, the sensation followed by a moment of weightlessness before he was slammed back down into a bank of snow. He was subsequently hauled to his feet and the clinging snow brushed from his robes. It was hard to believe it was all over. Gentle hands urged him down the narrow trail worn between the naked trees, their destination becoming apparent when they rounded a bend in the path and the crumbling farmhouse came into view. Halting in the clearing below the house, Harry stared at the trio standing on the crooked porch. This was it, his new home.

"Welcome back, Harry Potter," Jaime called from between Draco and Andrej. The young werewolf was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, his hazel eyes shining.

It was quite possibly the most depressing greeting Harry had ever received. With a soft sigh, he picked his way toward the dilapidated house, knowing his life had just been irrevocably changed, and not knowing if he'd be able to survive it.

* * *

A/n: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review.


	10. In the Wolves Den

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter Ten - In the Wolves Den

* * *

Harry halted at the base of the stairs that led up onto the sagging porch, his gaze on the trio standing solemnly on the rotted planks. Draco, surprisingly enough, looked extremely relieved to see him, the blond's lips curling briefly before firming. The expression Andrej wore was a lot less welcoming, his stiff posture and fisted hands clearly demonstrating his displeasure with Harry's arrival. And Draco's as well, the raven-haired male thought, catching the calculating look the older male pinned on Malfoy. Standing between the pair, and obviously oblivious to the gravity of the situation, Jaime smiled brightly while tugging excitedly on the heavy cloth of Andrej's gray cloak.

Drawing a deep breath, Harry tried to muster up some emotion, but could find nothing. He was . . . empty. His brow drew down at the realization and he raised a shaking hand to his chest, taking comfort in the rhythmic thump beneath his palm. The steady beat was strangely reassuring, its presence a definitive sign of his continued existence. Slowly, he lifted his eyes and met Draco's worried gaze, unable to comprehend what he saw there.

"They said you'd come back. Andrej and Steve couldn't tell me when - but they promised you'd return," Jaime said breathlessly, his hazel eyes shining happily. His eager prancing slowed when Harry remained silent, his feet eventually stilling and his smile fading. Appearing suddenly nervous, the young boy glanced up at Andrej, seeking some sign of reassurance from the older male.

Noting the dark expression on Steve's face, Andrej dropped a protective hand to Jaime's shoulder, unconsciously tugging the little boy closer into his side. "We weren't expecting you," he said, tightening his grip on Jaime when he began to squirm in protest. "And Draco's been oddly close-lipped since his arrival." Although the statement was made in a perfectly polite voice, the expression on the blond's face was anything but welcoming.

Without blinking, Harry slowly removed his hand from his chest, his brow furrowing as he gazed unseeing at the older male. "I killed them," he finally said. Those three simple words should have contained a wealth of emotion; instead, they were completely and utterly empty - devoid of any feeling whatsoever.

The unnerving statement caused a wary growl to trickle over Andrej's lips, his large body edging forward to stand protectively in front of Jaime. This time, it was he who sought some sign of reassurance, glancing over Harry's head to where Steve stood silently behind the raven-haired youth. When Steve shook his head in warning, Andrej tugged Jaime aside, leaving the doorway into the house unimpeded. "Perhaps you'd like to come inside," he murmured, gesturing at the shadowy entrance with his free hand.

Completely oblivious to the mounting tension, Harry took a step forward, the crunching snow loud in his ears. His slow advance was halted before he had a chance to set a boot upon the bottom stair, Draco sliding liquidly into Andrej's place at the top of the shallow staircase, pointedly blocking the path into the farmhouse.

"I'll have a word with you in private, Potter." The blond all but snarled. He stepped off the edge of the porch, bypassing the rickety stairs to land silently upon the snow banked against the worn wood. Ignoring the startled look on the dark-haired male's face, Draco sank stiff fingers into the collar of his cloak and hauled him ruthlessly across the clearing. "We'll join you momentarily in the kitchen," he called over his shoulder, giving the gaping trio a dismissive wave.

Harry shook off his surprise and closed his hand around Draco's, sinking his nails into the soft flesh of the blond's inner wrist. An angry growl vibrated his chest, the rumble echoed by Malfoy, who merely tightened his grip and continued to tow him between the naked trees. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He finally spat, attempting to dig his heels into the hardened ground. His eyes widened when he was swung forcefully around, his back slamming into the wide trunk of an old oak tree.

Silver orbs blazing, Malfoy shook himself free of Harry's grip and slid his hand from the cloak's collar to the exposed skin of the male's throat, curling the cool digits threateningly. "What's wrong with me?" He snapped in a savage hiss, pushing his face into Harry's until the tips of their noses brushed. His fingers tightened roughly, his thumb sliding over Harry's jugular in a deadly caress. "What did I say to you, Potter, before we parted? Did you think I was joking when I told you not to stop for anything - or anyone?"

"I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Hermione," Harry whispered, drawing a shaky breath when the fingers resting against his throat stroked gently up and down. He forced himself to draw a deep breath and gazed warily into the swirling sphere's that were only inches from his own. Slowly, he relaxed back against the tree, ignoring the wolf's grumbles for action. "In the past month I've completely offended and disgusted everyone I even remotely considered a friend. So, excuse me for trying to maintain the one friendship I haven't completely destroyed."

Curling a lip in disgust, Draco stepped away from the raven-haired male, his fingers trailing over the steadily pulsing vein in one final taunting reminder. "You reek of that mudblood," he muttered in reply, smoothing his hands down the front of his robes. He straightened the charcoal wool with calm hands, brushing tiny flakes of snow from the heavy cloth. "You're lucky I didn't wait for you. Did you even consider what would have happened to me if I'd been caught? They would have happily placed that bloodbath on my shoulders and locked me away."

Mouth agape, Harry glared in disbelief at the other wizard. "You didn't wait for me?" He all but sputtered, pushing away from the tree and shrugging his robes back into place. When Malfoy failed to respond, he gritted his teeth together and reached for the blond. "What if I'd waited for you? Did you think about that?"

Snorting disdainfully, Draco sidestepped Harry's grasping fingers and whirled around. "Harry, you could no more leave without saying goodbye to Granger than I could leave without packing my extensive and equally expensive wardrobe. You're extremely transparent that way, which would almost be endearing if it weren't so idiotically selfless." He reached out and gave Potter a somewhat patronizing pat on the cheek before swinging around and beginning a long-legged walk back to the farmhouse, gliding among the trees as stealthily as the wolf within him. "Besides, I had to fetch help. If we'd both been caught, we would have been completely fucked. Now, come along, we don't want to keep the pack waiting."

Harry fell in behind the blond, his gait uneven and his mind in turmoil. He wasn't one hundred per cent positive, but he may just have been insulted - or complimented - it was really hard to tell with Malfoy. Raising a hand to rub the still tingling skin of his throat, he shot the other male a dirty look, confused by the brief exchange. For a moment he'd thought Malfoy really cared - my, how quickly that illusion had been shattered. He gave his head a hard shake and dropped his gaze to his palms, eyeing the bloody scratches pensively. If he'd spent a moment longer with Hermione, or an extra minute debating on what to pack, McGonagall and Snape would have caught him. And quite possibly Draco as well, if the blond had stuck around that was. Releasing a heavy sigh, he plodded tiredly after Malfoy, contemplating on whether or not an apology was necessary. And if he could survive the imminent gloating which would surely follow.

He slowed when he entered the clearing that was home to the old farmhouse for the second time that afternoon. The sagging porch was empty now, its earlier occupants having vanished within. It was exactly as he remembered it, though: a dilapidated shack unfit for human habitation much less that of the termites that probably resided in its crumbling walls. Easing his way onto the porch, he eyed the doorway apprehensively, considering the structural merits of the building he'd be calling home for the unforeseeable future. Realizing there was no way to put it off any longer, he stepped into the house and held his breath, releasing it when the floorboards didn't vanish from beneath his soles. He gathered his courage and paced slowly down the short length of hall that led to the back of the house, listening to the murmurs as he drew closer to the kitchen and placed his fingers upon the door that led into the room he'd seen only once before.

Vaguely, Harry noted that the kitchen hadn't changed at all since his last visit. Although, in the light of the late afternoon, it was slightly more depressing. What had been hidden by shadow on his last trip was now revealed by the light of day. Wallpaper, which may once have been a delightful shade of mint green, was now faded to the colour of dead grass. The cupboards drooping above the cracked counter top were all missing their doors, either by design or simple disrepair, it was impossible to tell. Sitting in the center of the room, the scratched and wobbly circular table was a sorry affair, the mismatched chairs surrounding it only adding to its apparent misery.

Ignoring Andrej, Steve, and Jaime, he crossed the kitchen carefully. Gracelessly, he dragged one of those chairs out and collapsed into it, nearly ending up on the floor when it pitched unexpectedly to the left under his weight. He steadied himself on the edge of the table, curling his fingers tightly around the worn maple and staring blankly at the opposite wall. Pain throbbed in his side, the dull ache a reminder of the beating he'd taken in the last hour. The last hour . . . the events of which he couldn't even fully remember. What had happened after he'd blacked out was a mystery, and the wolf wasn't exactly being very forthcoming.

From where he leaned against the kitchen counter, Andrej quietly asked, "What's happened to bring you here so early?" His gaze slid back and forth between Harry and Draco, pausing on the blond when he pulled a large wooden case from the bag that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Malfoy? Potter? An explanation would be nice. Preferably something with more substance than 'I killed them'."

Mindful of his audience, Draco cracked open the hawthorn case and began to rifle through its contents. Glass vials and jars tinkled lightly as he searched for the bottle he wanted, frowning when the particular vessel he needed proved elusive. "Harry was attacked by several of our classmates. It ended . . . badly, to say the least." Lips twisting wryly, he located the bottle he wanted and withdrew it from the case, flipping the locks on the box closed and depositing it carefully back into his bag.

"Exactly how bad did it end?" Steve demanded, eyeing Harry's silent figure.

The interrogation was interrupted by the cackle of an overly large and disheveled raven, the bird winging noisily into the kitchen and landing with a scrabble of talons upon the aged laminate flooring. Tipping its head, the raven released a loud caw before disappearing in a swirl of magic only to be replaced by Fenrir Greyback. Straightening, the old werewolf rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck loudly, the smile on his face hovering somewhere between crazy and feral.

Startled by the transformation, Harry lurched to his feet, a wild snarl falling from his mouth. The wolf whispered through his skull, unfazed by the appearance of the older male. Drawing in a deep breath, he attempted to calm his racing heart, warily watching Greyback out of the corner of his eye. He attempted to sidle silently away from the other werewolf, swallowing when glowing orbs landed squarely upon him. Instinct had him lowering his gaze to the floor, shoulders dropping submissively.

With a delighted laugh, Greyback reached out and seized Harry by the face, cupping his cheeks between callused palms. "How wonderful to find you here, Harry Potter. And how interesting you smell. Like blood and fear and wolf." He raised his hands slowly, forcing the raven-haired male to rise to the toes of his boots, ignoring the quiet whimper that escaped the mouth caught between the heels of his palms. "Did you change?" He questioned, the words emerging in raspy growl.

Emerald orbs watering with the sting of his injured nose being touched, Harry had to shake his head in reply, nearly crying out when he only succeeded in further jarring his nose. He tried to rise up higher on his toes, to relieve his face of the weight of his body, but Greyback merely lifted his hands, forcing him to fight for balance on the tips of his boots. Desperately he searched for a means of escape, his gaze darting about the room until at last landing on Malfoy, and recognizing the lupine calculation occurring behind the shuttered orbs. That familiar gleam in the blond's eyes was almost calming - almost.

Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, Draco slipped closer to pair. "No," he stated quietly, drawing Fenrir's wild eyes in his direction. "He didn't change." A rumbled warning from Steve had him backing away from the duo. Silver sphere's slitted, he transferred his weight back and forth between his left foot and right, unsure of how to proceed despite the numerous suggestions being whispered through his head.

Expression rapidly changing, Greyback glared down at his captive. "You're positive?" He mumbled, his grip on Harry tightening until he was nearly holding him completely off the floor. The barest hint of a smile crossed his face when the young male continued to struggle ineffectually in his grasp.

"Yes," Draco said forcefully.

"What a shame," Greyback muttered, releasing Harry so suddenly he stumbled backwards and collapsed into the chair he'd occupied earlier. A dark frown creasing his face, he turned toward Draco and leveled a finger at the blond's chest. "Remember your place, whelp. This is my territory and if you can't mind your manners you'll have to leave." Each word was punctuated with a jab to the sternum as he crowded closer to the younger male, forcing Malfoy to retreat several steps until his back was against the wall.

"Harry and Draco were just telling us why they've come to the Glen." Andrej said calmly into the silence. The quiet male dropped a hand to the top of Jaime's head, giving the boy a comforting pat in the wake of the incident he'd just witnessed.

The statement caused Greyback to move away from Draco, his attention returning to Harry and sharpening visibly. "Oh? And what have they told you?" He all but purred, a smirk riding his lips.

"Harry was forced to defend himself against several individuals-"

"I was attacked by a former friend and his lynch mob. I killed them. It was self-defense." Harry said, cutting Draco off pointedly and shooting the blond a look of warning. It was his story to tell. Neither of them would be there if it weren't for his inability to control himself. He lowered his eyes to the floor, awaiting the snide comments and sneers which would surely follow.

Seemingly unperturbed by the announcement, Greyback paced over to where Andrej stood and scooped Jaime up, tossing the boy playfully over his shoulder and bouncing the child lightly up and down until he giggled. Seeing his son's attention diverted, he turned and stared at the dark-haired male, his eyes unusually lucid. "They'll be hunting you now, Harry, and the claim of self-defense will only make them hungrier for your head. You had best lay low for the next few weeks." He turned and left the kitchen then, slowing only to give Steve a murmured order that had both Draco and Harry tensing.

Face set, Steve pushed himself away from the counter and crossed the kitchen, dragging the old door closed on Greyback's heels. With one hand still on the warped wood, the tall blond swung around, exchanging a telling look with Andrej. "I'll need your wands if you're going to remain in the Glen. It's merely a precaution, of course. We can't have the Ministry following your magic to our doorstep."

"They'll be returned should you decide to leave," Andrej added from his place against the cracked counter top. He studied the young pair a moment before tipping his chin at Steve, gesturing him from the kitchen. "We'll give you a moment to discuss your options." Sliding his hands into his pockets, he trailed after the taller blond, disappearing into the shadowed dining room.

As soon as the tail of Andrej's cloak vanished around the doorframe, Harry dropped his head into his hands and silently cursed himself. Malfoy, on the opposite side of the room, felt no qualms about venting his frustrations. The litany of swear words that fell eloquently from the blond's lips as he stalked frenziedly back and forth would have made Harry blush in the past, today, he merely listened with half an ear and nodded in agreement. He couldn't give his wand up. It was his link to magic; a piece of his very being. Simply put, his wand was . . . his.

_Ours_, the wolf corrected. It paced about within Harry's skull, expressing its displeasure over being backed into a corner. _Snared,_ it added, the word filled with contempt.

"What the fuck are we going to do?" Malfoy finally snapped, whirling around and throwing his hands up. A sharp crack followed the wild gesture, both male's dropping their attention to the floor where a vial rocked gently back and forth upon the curling laminate. Cursing again, Draco snatched the glass bottle off the floor and stormed toward Harry. He wrenched a chair out and flopped gracefully into it, catching up one of Harry's hands and pouring some of the container's contents across the scratched skin. "This is all that stupid Weasel's fault. Him - and his brainless group of cronies."

Harry sat motionless, watching Draco's fingers smooth some sort of salve over the bloody scratches on his palms. They had nowhere else to go; there was no contingency plan. This was, and always had been, the plan. When he and Draco could no longer remain at Hogwarts, they were to report to Greyback and assume their positions within his pack. It had just happened much sooner then anyone had anticipated. He pulled his right hand away from Malfoy and slid it into the pocket of his cloak, withdrawing it to reveal his wand. For a moment he simply held it, his knuckles almost whitening as he studied its length, before slowly reaching out and placing it on the kitchen table. "What choice do we have?" He asked Draco softly, raising his gaze to meet the blond's.

Draco held Harry's eyes for several deep breaths, reading the thoughts that raced so transparently behind the shimmering emeralds. Sighing, he dragged his own wand from the depth of his cloak's pocket and placed it next to Potter's, his fingers lingering lovingly on the worn wood. "If anything happens to me because I didn't have my wand, I'm going to beat you senseless," he informed Harry baldly.

"If it comes to that Malfoy, I'll let you." Harry returned with a small smile. His nose twitched and his head turned, the smile sliding from his face at the sight of Andrej and Steve. "We'll stay . . . for now." He informed the pair after a moment's hesitation.

"Wonderful," Andrej said, his voice cheerful. He crossed the kitchen in a liquid glide, eyeing the wands before smiling at the pair seated before him. "Why don't I give you a tour of the Glen?" Smile still in place, he turned and led the way from the room, obviously expecting the duo to follow.

Stomach churning, Harry rose dutifully and followed, sparing one last glance for his wand. Hands balling into fists, he tamped down the urge to run back and grab his wand and flee the farmhouse. After all, he had nothing left to lose.

XxXxX

The Glen was finally quiet save the occasional creak of wood and the mournful howl of the wind beyond the crumbling brick and rotting wood. After a day fraught with emotion, the silence was as welcome as the mattress beneath Harry's back; and although it was worn and stained suspiciously, the narrow twin pad was more than he had expected.

His bruised ribs twinged in protest when he stretched slowly, the dull ache finally having faded to a point where it was almost unnoticeable. Yawning widely, he rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep - a state that seemed beyond his reach this night.

It had been a small comfort to learn that the majority of the pack lived elsewhere; only Andrej, Steve, Jaime, and Fenrir actually occupying the ramshackle farmhouse. And now he and Draco would join that list, Harry thought, rolling over and pillowing his cheek on his upper arm. Of course, given the state of the house, it was hard to imagine anything living within its crumbling walls. As it was, there were only two usable rooms on the second floor; one of which was shared by Andrej and Steve. He was expected to share the second chamber with Malfoy, a point which was inarguable due to a lack of other options. Their arrival, in fact, had displaced Jaime, who was now sleeping before the fire in the kitchen. The attic was Fenrir's territory - which was afforded a picturesque view of the moon courtesy of the gaping hole in the roof.

Shifting restlessly, he rolled over onto his other side, attempting to find a comfortable position on the thin mattress. In the faint light passing through the sheet tacked over the window, he could see the glitter of Draco's eyes in the darkness. The other wizard was laying on his back with a heavy duvet pulled up to his chin, his chest rising and falling steadily. Brow creasing, Harry studied Malfoy wearily, pondering the male's decision to aid him and thus leave Hogwarts forever.

"Having trouble sleeping, Potter?" The blond asked in a quiet murmur, his gaze never leaving the naked planks overhead. There was no trace of disdain or disgust in his voice when he spoke Harry's last name, merely the slightest hint of amused fondness. Springs squeaking in protest, he turned over onto his side and studied Harry with tired eyes, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand.

"Why did you come?" Harry returned, his voice just as quiet. Confusion caused his brow to furrow when the blond's lips kicked up at the corners, the reaction not at all what he had expected. That shouldn't really have surprised him, though, as Draco's actions throughout the day had completely contradicted the conversation they had had earlier. For someone who expressed an appreciation for the finer things in life, Malfoy had come to the wrong place. Frown firmly in place, he waited for the blond to respond.

Still wearing a small smile, Draco allowed his lids to slip down, concealing any thoughts that may have been visible in the silver spheres. Why _had_ he come here? It was a hastily made decision that he was still questioning, its consequences as of yet still unknown. He had chosen a life of hardship and isolation, the exact opposite of which he was accustomed to. Here, there would be no one to make his meals or do his laundry. No house elf to fetch him whatever he desired. Opening his eyes, he stared across the short distance between them, attempting to find the best suitable response for a question he wasn't sure even had an answer. "There was no reason for me to remain at Hogwarts any longer," he finally said, knowing the quiet murmur left much to be desired.

"Bullshit," Harry whispered. "That's an incredibly lousy explanation and you know it, Malfoy."

"Perhaps I couldn't imagine life without you," Draco replied in a quiet drawl. He shifted slightly, trying to find a more forgiving position on the worn mattress. When he had finished wiggling about, he frowned, finding a new set of springs boring their way into his back.

Scoffing softly, Harry pushed himself up onto an elbow and glared at Draco, noting the perfectly blank mask the blond wore. "You had it made at Hogwarts. Slytherin House practically pandered to you. Crabbe and Goyle followed you around like they were your private security force. Your damn Godfather was your Head of House-"

"Just leave it the fuck alone, Potter!" Draco snapped, jerking up and leaning towards Harry. His eyes shimmered silver and a rumble spilled over his lips, the threat extremely real.

Any reply Harry may have made was cut off by a loud thump against the wall.

"If the pair of you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to come in there," Steve promised in a muffled snarl.

Deciding it best not to tempt the older male, Harry dropped back down to the mattress and dragged the heavy blanket up to his chin. He lay there silently for several minutes, listening to the various noises of the creaky old farmhouse, trying to figure out what exactly had started the argument between himself and Malfoy. Drawing a blank, he turned back on his side and eyed the blond's still figure. "They almost caught me this afternoon. Doesn't that seem strange to you?" He waited for the other male to respond, growing impatient with the blond's continued silence. "Between the time you found me and the time I exited the library, Snape and McGonagall were looking for me. For _me_."

At that, Draco stirred, rolling to the left to peer at Harry through the darkness. He frowned, brow furrowing in thought. "We've missed something. There was, perhaps, twenty minutes for someone to locate the bodies and then find a professor. But to find both Snape and McGonagall and deduce that the culprit was you? I suppose that could be considered odd under the circumstances." He nibbled his lower lip, listening to the dulcet voice of the wolf within his thoughts.

"They could have gone to Dumbledore," Harry reasoned in a soft voice. Try as he might, and despite the numerous options offered up by his wolf, he couldn't understand how he'd almost been captured.

Draco shook his head. "Hogwarts would have been locked down. You never would have made it out."

Sighing, Harry lolled back onto the bed and folded his arms over his abdomen. "Perhaps," he murmured, still not convinced. His eyes had grown heavy while whispering with Malfoy and he allowed himself a wide yawn before snuggling deeper into the mound of stolen blankets, deciding it was a mystery that could wait for another day. "Goodnight, Draco."

"Hm," the blond replied, rolling away from Harry and dragging the flat pillow over his head.

Despite the pull of sleep, Harry's mind still wanted to wander, to find the answer to this most perplexing problem. They were missing something. Something important. Lips pulling down, he turned over, listening to the sound of Draco's breathing even out as he slipped into sleep. Tomorrow, he promised himself as his eyes slipped closed, they would figure it out.

XxXxX

The front parlor of Grimmauld Place was bathed in shadows, which suited Remus Lupin to perfection. Staring forlornly into the fire crackling in the hearth, the old werewolf curled his nails into the stone mantle and cursed angrily. He had told Albus that Harry needed to come home. He _had_ told them this would happen! Lips peeled back from his teeth, he whirled away from the fire and stormed across the dark room, wheeling around when he reached the far wall and stomping back across its length.

He'd gone immediately to Hogwarts when he'd received the urgent fire-call from Albus. However, the Headmaster's grim warning had not prepared him for the scene that had met his eyes upon his arrival. The blood splattered walls and sheet draped bodies were a shock; the stack of stained photographs he'd been handed even-more-so. Then, before he'd finished studying the telling pictures, he'd been presented with three more photos, those which had been taken by Colin Creevey as he'd fled the slaughter. He'd seen not a shred of humanity in those three pictures of Harry, unable to look past the eerily glowing emeralds and bloody features to the frightened boy that surely lurked beneath.

And now Harry was gone, his unexpected disappearance only adding to the drama. Remus hadn't expected the younger male to vanish quite so quickly. Then again, Greyback was extremely wily, and there wasn't a doubt in Remus's mind that the feral werewolf had aided Harry's escape; Snape's broken arm and bruised face were testament to that. It was truly a scary thought: Harry's young malleable mind in the hands of someone as crazed as Fenrir.

He would have to hunt them down . . . wherever they were hiding. Of course, it could take weeks, maybe even months to track down Greyback and his band of wolves. They would be on the move now, attempting to protect the prize they had worked so hard for. Harry, poor Harry.

With a disheartened huff, Remus dropped into one of the chairs before the dying fire, dropping his head into his palms. If only Albus had listened to him . . . but he hadn't, and now it was too late. There would be no collar for Harry when he was found, only a cage from which he would never be released. How had he let it come to this? How had he failed James and Lily so miserably? Face buried in his hands, he wept alone in the dark.

XxXxX

Harry's eyes flipped open and he shot up on the narrow mattress, his unexpected awakening causing his silent observer to skitter backwards into the wall. Blinking, he gazed blearily at the intruder, sleepily pondering the reason for his presence. Keeping one eye on the small shadow huddled against the faded wallpaper, he turned his head and searched for Draco in the early morning light, finding the blond buried beneath his blankets, presumably still asleep. Strangely reassured at finding his roommate still present, he cautiously lowered himself back onto his elbows and studied Jaime with an uneasy combination of curiousity and trepidation.

"Are you mad at me?" Jaime whispered in a voice filled with worry. His hazel eyes were locked on the floor between his feet and he was wringing his hands anxiously, appearing quite distressed at the possibility. When Harry failed to answer, he lifted his gaze and found the dark-haired male gaping at him in apparent confusion. "Are you mad at me for what I did?" He asked again, though this time his voice was pitched slightly higher.

Emerald orbs widening, Harry continued to gap at Jaime, not quite understanding what the little boy meant. "Is something wrong?" He asked instead, ignoring the question in favour of glancing in the direction of the doorway. When the little boy only seemed to grow more agitated, he straightened from his relaxed slump and knotted his hands in the blankets bunched in his lap, preparing to get out of bed. "Is everything alright, Jaime?"

Drawing a deep breath, Jaime lifted his chin arrogantly and folded his arms over his small chest. "Are you mad at me for what I did?" He asked yet again, though this time the tone of his voice demanded an immediate answer.

Brow furrowing, the dark-haired male stared at the little boy in confusion, turning the question over in his mind. "What did you do?" He inquired moments later, mystified.

Eyes dropping back to the dusty boards, Jaime scoffed a sock-clad toe against the floor and mumbled, "I bit you." He darted a quick look up at Harry, searching the older male's features for signs of anger or hatred.

The whispered confession was full of shame and guilt, emotions which were out of place in one so young. And innocent, Harry thought, staring at the top of Jaime's lowered head. While the young boy may have been the cause behind his current condition, he was in no way the one to blame. Jaime was nothing but an abused tool, and _that_ was something Harry understood.

Offering the boy a sad smile, Harry shook his head slowly. "I'm not mad at you," he said in a quiet voice. A low grumble of warning barely muffled by the mound of covers blanketing him escaped from Draco, the sound turning Harry's head in the blond's direction. With a disgruntled sigh, the raven-haired youth clambered cautiously to his feet and stretched, testing his body for lingering aches. Finding nothing, he gestured Jaime from the room, following the boy closely. It seemed almost natural to reach out and place a gentle hand on Jaime's shoulder, to direct him silently down the rickety stairs to the warm sanctuary of the kitchen.

He stepped tentatively into the sunlit room and halted, eyes sweeping the kitchen for some sign of life. "Where is everyone?" Harry asked in a whisper. His gaze swung back to find Jaime, watching as the little boy dragged out a kitchen chair and climbed up into it. The protesting groan of old wood and a rush of cold air had him spinning around, eyes widening slightly as Andrej stepped through the back door.

Smelling of winter and smoke, the blond smiled in greeting and deposited a basket upon the counter. "Attending their duties," he said, his smile widening at the confused look on the dark-haired male's face. "Every member of the pack has to contribute to the pack's overall welfare. I've gotten eggs for breakfast. Steve . . . was supposed to be keeping an eye on Jaime," Andrej explained, shooting a small frown at the child.

Suddenly feeling a little worried, Harry began to mentally compile a list of things he could do that might benefit the pack. Worry warred with confusion when Andrej lifted a large axe from next to the backdoor, offering it silently to him handle first. He tentatively accepted the sharp looking blade, glancing back and forth between the tool and Andrej. Surely they expected something more from him than cutting wood?

"We'll need enough to last us all day and tomorrow morning. There's an old sleigh next to the door that you can use." Task assigned, Andrej turned back to his basket of eggs, giving Harry a moment of privacy to accept the sudden change in his life. Undoubtedly, the boy had never chopped wood in his life.

Harry stared at the axe, almost in awe of what it suddenly represented. If he were at Hogwarts, he'd be sitting at the Gryffindor Table shoveling bacon thoughtlessly into his mouth. This axe was his freedom from the mundane and sheltered life he'd been living. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. The chance to learn everything he needed to know and would never be taught at Hogwarts. A small smile curled his lips and he placed the blade next to the door, darting from the kitchen to fetch his cloak. If he was chopping wood, he could only begin to wonder what menial job they'd find for Malfoy.

* * *

A/n: Sorry and thank-you, as always.


	11. Guilt, Shame, and Survival

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Chapter Eleven - Guilt, Shame, and Survival**

* * *

It was quiet in the forest bordering the Glen. Peaceful, almost. Birds called cheerfully overhead, flitting from branch to branch in a flurry of pale brown feathers. The odd squirrel chittered angrily in the distance, the sound as clear as a bell on a winter's morning to Harry. Breathing in deeply, the dark-haired wizard closed his eyes and tipped his chin toward the naked canopy, reveling in the silence and the sun on his face. He dropped his chin and exhaled slowly, the warm air rising in a puff of steam that vanished before his eyes.

The wolf stirred within him, ascending ever closer to the surface. Its murmurs were loud in his mind, a sure sign that the full moon was nearing. _Soon_, the beast purred, eagerness colouring the word.

Goosebumps rose along his arms in a rush, the reminder one he didn't need. Somewhere in the surrounding brush a fox yipped, the sharp call stilling the snowy hare that had been nervously rooting about beneath the nearby pine boughs. Harry turned his head in the direction of the bark, angling his chin just the slightest to inhale the winter air. Although the low wind yielded nothing, he crossed to where he'd flung his heavy cloak minutes ago, digging through the pockets to find the wand he'd obtained earlier.

The ten and half inches of mahogany was one of many he'd tried over the past week. It, and several others, rolled about a drawer in the kitchen, appearing to all the world like normal household gadgets. Harry had asked only once about where they had come from and been baldly informed that they been unwillingly donated or unknowingly taken - much like the majority of things within the farmhouse. From the eggs they ate at breakfast to the soap they used to wash with, nearly everything that found its way into the Glen was _commandeered._

Werewolves didn't work, Andrej had explained one evening, sounding extremely amused at the idea. They were too unpredictable. Volatile. As likely to rip someone's throat out as they were to smile politely at them. So they scammed and stole without guilt or shame. Because there was no shame in survival, even if that meant taking your neighbours's eggs from beneath their chickens. Or their chickens. Or their lambs. Or pretty much anything else they could lay their hands on for that matter.

Locating the wand, he tucked it carefully into the back of his trousers and once again took up the axe, resuming the methodical and mind numbing task of cutting wood for the farmhouse. It would seem that no matter how much wood he brought home, by dawn of the next day it was gone, fed slavishly to the old kitchen stove with the hope it would keep them all from freezing. That was fine with Harry, though. With nothing better to do, and with firm orders not to leave the safety of the Glen, chopping wood helped to fill a small part of his otherwise empty day. Once his task was complete, he'd assume the job of keeping Jaime entertained, freeing Andrej or Draco to do something else.

Although recognizable, Draco had been deemed safe to leave the farmhouse. It was unlikely, or so the reasoning was, that anyone would be looking for him. And there was no known connection between Harry and Draco, no reason for ones disappearance to have anything to do with the others. However, the dark-haired wizard wasn't so certain of that. Something was still bothering him; a niggling sense that there was something he had forgotten.

He paused with the axe on his shoulder, eyes lifting to the quartet of crows that had been observing him since his arrival. The birds were fidgeting in their lofty perch, their flapping and hopping causing the branches to scrape angrily together. Lowering the axe, he straightened, swinging back to face the direction he'd come from, his orbs narrowed against the glare of the sun on the snow. He could hear them before he could smell them, taste them in the light breeze before he could see them. Wiping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, he watched the duo approach, smiling faintly at the look of disgusted annoyance on Draco's face. Jaime ambled along in the blond's wake, pausing to examine a print in the snow and exclaiming loudly over his findings.

Reaching the dark-haired wizard's side, Draco leveled a finger at him and snarled, "I don't like you enough to act as a babysitter for the whelp of Fenrir Greyback." He glared over his shoulder and narrowed steely spheres' on Jaime, watching with obvious displeasure as the boy threw a large stick into a pine tree and sent the snow piled upon its branches cascading to the ground. "I'm attempting to brew a most complex potion and I can't do it with his endless babbling. And he won't stop touching my stuff! I almost added liquified Dragon's Fire before liquified Unicorn Hair because he rearranged the bottles. Do you know what happens when you add those two ingredients in the reversed order? The exact opposite of what I need this potion to do!" Draco paused and inhaled deeply, his face a brilliant shade of scarlet.

"He's only a child, Draco," Harry chided, the whispered words a plea for understanding. He pretended not to see the blond's rolling eyes or hear the disgusted snort that was clearly audible, shifting his attention to Jaime with a welcoming smile. "You were keeping Draco on his toes, were you?" He asked.

"Yes, but he wouldn't let me help him and he wouldn't tell me any more stories about Hogwarts," the boy informed Harry, tipping his nose up haughtily. He trotted up to the dark-haired male and wrapped his hands around the shaft of the axe, lifting it off the ground as if it weighed no more than a spoon.

It took a moment of studying the familiar expression before he could place it, and another to compare it with the one on Draco's face to confirm his observation; Jaime was spending far too much time with the blond. Harry snatched the axe from Jaime's grasp, fighting down the smile that threatened to curve his lips and offering the little boy a consoling smile and a pat on the head as he shoved the tool in Draco's direction. "I was just about to load the sleigh," he explained to the boy, desperately hoping to quell the tantrum he could see brewing in the child's eyes and quivering bottom lip. "Would you like to help me pull it back home?" He nearly thanked Merlin aloud when Jaime nodded his head eagerly, his expression brightening

A dark frown firmly in place, Draco hefted the axe up to rest on his shoulder. "Do you know how far behind schedule I am now?" The blond shot a glare in Jaime's direction, watching with a curled lip as the little boy happily piled wood onto the sleigh Harry had brought with him. "That potion takes at least two hours to brew, not to mention the time it takes to properly prepare all the ingredients."

"Well," Harry said, crossing to the branch where he'd draped his cloak, "you should have waited for me to come back." He slid the heavy length over his shoulders and fastened the metal clasp with quick fingers, sweeping the snow with one final glance to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. He flipped the black material forward and walked toward Draco, reaching out to take the axe from his hands. "I thought Andrej was supposed to be watching him this morning." The murmur was barely more than a whisper, meant to go unheard by the child attempting to drag the well-loaded sleigh toward them.

Jaime dropped the rope handle and turned to face the pair, his little brow crinkling with concern. "We were playing in the front garden but then he sent me inside and told me to stay with Draco." He dropped his gaze to his hands and nervously began to tug on the thread hanging from one of the green gloves he wore, darting a quick look up at Harry from beneath his shaggy forelock.

Unease slid up Harry's spine at the innocent statement. He swivelled his head and caught Draco's gaze, seeing the same worry he felt shimmering in the grey spheres. "We better get back to the Glen," he said softly, trying to ignore the anxiety beginning to tighten the muscles of his shoulders. He ran his tongue nervously across his bottom lip and swept the surrounding brush with wary eyes, tamping down the urge to grab Jaime and run home.

_Protect the pup_, the wolf agreed, slinking ever closer to the surface.

Harry trudged through the snow and scooped Jaime up easily, depositing him carefully atop the wood piled on the sleigh. "You can ride up here," he said, forcing a smile to his face. He lifted the hood on the little boy's cloak and pulled the fabric forward, nearly covering the hazel eyes with its ragged edge. As he fussed over Jaime, he scanned the forest, searching for danger between the oaks and elms. Ensuring the child's perch was safe, he straightened and caught up the sleigh's handle, gesturing Draco to precede him.

Frowning, Harry fell into step behind Draco, dragging the sleigh as if it held nothing more than Jaime. His eyes shifted constantly and his ears were carefully attuned to the forest, searching for any disturbance among the birds or animals of the Glen. As if aware of his thoughts, the quartet of crows took flight, cackling shrilly in warning as they circled overhead.

On the path before him Draco came to a sudden standstill, his pale head angled and his posture stiff. The blond glanced over his shoulder and lifted a hand in warning, the wand he was using clutched within his fist. Silently, the trio stood and waited, listening, though they knew not what for. Anxious to return to the safety of the farmhouse, Harry took three steps forward and froze, his head whipping around as a broken wail rose in the distance. The pained bay had the hair on the back of his neck rising and a startled snarl escaping from his mouth.

Jaime whimpered Harry's name as the sound faded, sliding from his perch and launching himself at the dark-haired male. He clung to the long cloak Harry wore, his pupils dilated with fear. "I want to go home," he cried, ignoring the hissed growl Draco aimed at him.

Harry needed no further urging. He swept Jaime into his arms and loped to Draco's side, abandoning the sleigh without a second thought. Dragging air in through his nose, he tested the wind for danger, knowing Malfoy would be doing the same at his side. If there were any threats lurking about in the vicinity, they remained to well hidden for the duo to detect. "We need to get back to the Glen," he breathed, the words nothing more than an exhalation.

Draco gave a brief dip of his chin in agreement, steely orbs meticulous in their search for danger. He lifted the wand he held loosely within his grasp, giving it a powerful flick that sent snow billowing up around them. The swirling flakes settled upon the sleigh and buried their footprints, erasing their very presence within the woods. "I'll follow you," he said, the words a gravelly rasp.

_Protect the pup_, the wolf reaffirmed in Harry's head, not knowing where the threat was but certain it existed. The beast paced within its confines, testing its limitations.

Taking the wolf's command to heart, Harry lengthened his stride until he was practically running through the forest. He was unnaturally conscious of Draco following at his heels, the blond's continuous casting concealing the weaving pattern they took through the trees. Heart pounding within his chest, he gasped for air and slipped between reaching branches, avoiding dangerous pitfalls and hidden logs under the snow. He gave a grateful gasp when he spilled into the clearing where the old farmhouse sat, clutching Jaime protectively against his chest.

"Wait," Draco huffed, grasping Harry's shoulder and dragging him to a halt. He tugged the dark-haired wizard back several steps, eyes locked suspiciously on the portal of the farmhouse. The back door stood ajar, the path into the heart of the house unguarded. Shifting warily, he sniffed the air, stiffening at the sweet tang of copper on the wind.

Harry felt the wolf clamor for release, its movements sending a shiver up his spine. The scent of blood upon the breeze was accompanied by groans of pain and angry snarls, the voices familiar. "Something's happened," he said unnecessarily, pulling free of Draco's grasp and hurrying across the clearing. He was aware of the blond shadowing him, felt oddly safe and almost comforted by his presence.

As they neared the door, crimson droplets became visible atop the snow, the ruby splotches creating a path right to the gaping doorway. Unerringly, Harry followed the bloody trail, his pace slowing when he reached the shallow steps leading up to the portal. The sweet smell of copper was almost overpowering, the tang sending the wolf into a frenzy within his skull. Clamping his teeth together, the dark-haired male lurched up the stairs and into the kitchen, freezing at the sight that met his eyes.

Andrej was sprawled across the kitchen table on his back, writhing against the tight hold Steve had on his shoulders. Blood pooled on the floor and arced up the walls, tiny scarlet spots dotted the faces of both males. The chairs lay in a broken heap against the cupboards, doubtless pushed aside in Steve's haste to get Andrej atop the table. As they stood there in stunned silence, Fenrir emerged from the hallway beyond the table, his eyes wild and his hands stained with blood.

In Harry's arms, Jaime began to whimper loudly, his small hands knotted in the dark cloth of the older male's cloak. Immediately, the raven-haired wizard turned the child's face away from the bloody scene, covering wide hazel eyes with one shaking hand. "What the hell happened?" He asked in a dry rasp. His eyes darted from Andrej and Steve to Fenrir, the rabid glint in the eerie golden orbs causing him to slide backwards cautiously.

_Weak,_ the wolf observed, studying Andrej with the fascination of a hungry predator. _Dying_, the beast added as an afterthought. Cold-blooded and calculating, the animal watched the blond writhe on the table and considered tearing his throat out. _For the good of the pack_, the wolf reasoned calmly.

"Help us," Steve snapped, gritting his teeth as Andrej struggled against his grasp. He nodded his head toward the bloody cloth covering the writhing male's chest, pausing in his struggles to whisper softly to the blond. When he lifted his head away from Andrej's, the gleam in his eyes had grown desperate.

Fenrir stepped up to the table and lifted the cloth covering the wound aside, revealing a small wooden bolt that jutted from the flesh beneath Andrej's collar bone. Blood seeped from around the wood, joining the ever growing puddle on the table. "Take Jaime upstairs, Harry." Greyback ordered quietly, his gaze never leaving the two inches of wood piercing his pack mate's chest. "Fetch your fancy box, Draco. It's time to earn your keep." This time those wild orbs were raised, pinning the blond with a look of warning, daring him to refuse or comment.

"Fuck," Draco breathed loudly. The blond spun toward the dining room and vanished around the doorframe, the ringing of his boots echoing on the stairs as he assumably went to fetch his hawthorn case.

Swallowing, Harry turned and followed the path Draco had taken, keeping one hand pressed tightly over Jaime's eyes. He shushed the boy when he began to whine loudly and pinned him closer when he wiggled wildly, desperate to keep him from seeing the mess in the kitchen. They were halfway up the crooked stairs when Draco appeared at the top, his face a perfectly composed mask. Halting when they were face to face, Harry murmured, "Be wary." But the words weren't his, they were all wolf. He paled at the realization and stepped aside so the blond could pass, his knuckles whitening when the other male simply continued to stare at him silently.

"Draco!" Fenrir bellowed, the shout seeming to shake the farmhouse.

Flinching reflexively at the shout, Draco dipped his chin, the faintest smile curving his lips. "Of course," he breathed back, silver orbs shimmering with the wolf's cunning. He slipped past Harry and continued down the stairs, snarling in response to Greyback's repeated shout.

Still feeling discomfitted, Harry clutched Jaime to his side and marched up the remaining few stairs. Not knowing what to do with the boy, he carted him into the room he shared with Malfoy and deposited him carefully on Draco's bed. "Everything will be fine," he assured the child, settling himself on the blond's mattress and crossing his legs. However, the walls and floors were incredibly thin and every whimper and pained gasp could be heard as easily as if they were still downstairs. In a desperate attempt to distract Jaime, and himself as well, he pulled out the most recent broom catalogue he'd been able to get his hands on over Christmas break. His attempt at distraction failed miserably, as even the flashy pictures couldn't deflect from the noisy proceedings occurring downstairs.

Finally, in a last ditch effort to gain Jaime's undivided attention, he blurted out, "Did Draco ever tell you how we met?" He could have wept with gratitude when the little boy's face lit with interest. Not hesitating lest he lose Jaime's attention, he launched into the story of how he and Draco had first met, happily embellishing here and there, adding details he was surprised he even remembered. When he'd thoroughly exhausted that tale, he moved onto Hogwarts, internally praying that whatever was going on in the kitchen concluded before his fond reminiscing of the school did. He was in the middle of describing the Slytherin Common Room when he realized the house had gone quiet. Mouth closing around a word, he tipped his head and listened.

Stairs creaked and barely audible mumbles reached his ears, the faint sounds causing him to straighten and turn to face the cracked door. Whatever they had been doing downstairs, they were done. He was so caught up in trying to figure out what was happening that he failed to notice Jaime sliding off the mattress. Cursing softly, he made a wild grab for the boy but Jaime was already well beyond his reach. Stumbling to his feet, he chased after the five-year-old, halting in the hallway when he saw Draco leaning against the wall outside Andrej and Steve's room.

"Well? What happened?" He whispered, noting the blood staining the sleeves of the shirt the blond wore. His gaze slid past Draco, searching for Jaime but finding Greyback instead. The old werewolf stood at the top of the stairs, one hand curled around the wobbly newel post, the other holding Jaime tightly against his chest.

Golden orbs slid back and forth between the two wizards, the bold stare worryingly calculating. "I need the two of you in the kitchen, immediately." Fenrir rumbled, turning and descending the stairs in a silent glide. He paused when he reached the darkened corridor at the base of the staircase, changing his direction after a moment's hesitation and prowling into the dusty living room.

Harry exchanged a wary glance with Draco as they trailed Greyback into the front sitting room. The narrow chamber was heavily shadowed, only the weakest beam of sunlight managing to shine through the dirt streaked glass. Dust motes danced in the faint light, tickling his nose until he had to sniffle to restrain the sneeze that threatened to escape. Wiggling his nose, he halted before the only sofa in the room, watching Fenrir rub Jaime's back soothingly. Beside him, Draco shifted, his hand brushing Harry's lightly, obviously feeling as uneasy as he was.

Greyback lifted his chin and glanced at the duo, continuing to gently stroke Jaime's back and hum comfortingly under his breath. He chanced a look at his son, noting that his eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling steadily. "We're being hunted." He said in a low murmur, his eyes taking on a feral gleam. "I want the pair of you to take care of it."

"Of course," Draco replied at once, nudging Harry with his elbow. When Greyback dipped his head in dismissal, the blond urged the dark-haired wizard in the direction of the kitchen, not giving him a chance to question Fenrir's command. Because there was no doubt in his mind as to what Greyback wanted. The old werewolf wouldn't take any threat to the pack's safety lightly, not with Jaime residing in the farmhouse.

Hunted. They were being hunted. The thought sent a shiver up Harry's spine, brought the wolf stalking his thoughts to a stop. He remembered the feeling of being hunted. Recalled the fear and heart pounding terror that had shadowed him as he ran for his life. But things had changed since then, they had the pack to think of.

_Protect the pack_, the wolf rumbled in agreement, flashing fangs.

Harry gave Draco a confused look as the other male practically shoved him into the kitchen, halting just over the threshold. The room was a mess; blood had thickened on the floor and left rust coloured stains on the faded wallpaper. Temporarily sidetracked, Harry began to pick up dirtied towels and mop up blood, slowing when his gaze landed on the old table.

The weapon that had almost killed Andrej lay forgotten atop the stained wood. Sinister in all its simplicity; the four inches of wood tipped with silver lay in a puddle of blood. It was a weapon that had obviously been designed to kill werewolves. Harry reached over and tentatively picked the bolt up, studying it with curious eyes. If the dart had struck Andrej a little lower, they'd be out back digging a hole in the frozen ground.

"What did Greyback mean when he said he wanted us to take care of it?" The raven-haired wizard asked in a hushed voice. He turned to face the blond, taking in the dark expression the other male wore. When silver orbs shifted in his direction, he nearly flinched, recognizing the glittering emotion they contained.

Draco smiled faintly, reaching out and taking the bloody bolt from Harry's fingers. "Exactly what you think he meant," he murmured, holding the dart up so the afternoon sunlight coming in the kitchen window glistened off the silver tip. His gaze slid from the weapon to meet Harry's wide eyes, the smile curling his lips growing decidedly vicious.

"How does he expect us to do that?" Harry queried, studying the dart doubtfully. Whoever had shot Andrej was probably well beyond their reach by now. Not necessarily, the wolf disagreed, circling through his thoughts. His face whitened at the beast's intentions, its maliciousness nearly turning his stomach. However, its instincts were his own, its mantra resonating through his mind: protect the pack. The words hummed in time with every thump of his heart, every inhalation of air.

_Protect the pack_, the wolf demanded, ears pressed tight to its skull and fangs gleaming.

The dart disappeared within Draco's fist, the blond turning away from the dark-haired male. "Go fetch a cloak," he murmured, heading for the back door. He slowed only to retrieve his own cloak from where he'd tossed it upon the counter earlier, though the dark material had developed several unbecoming creases in its harried placement.

Inhaling deeply, Harry swung about and went to find his cloak before joining Draco in the back garden. He found the blond studying the snow beyond the broken picket fence, the other male's entire attention seemingly focused on following the scarlet trail over the ground. His own eyes leapt from drop to drop as he followed in Draco's footprints, studying the crimson splashes and weaving boot prints heading toward the farmhouse. The trail vanished just inside the forest, leaving Harry slightly confused as to how they were expected to find Andrej's hunter, but the wolf already knew the answer.

_Hunt_, the beast whispered, anticipation colouring the single word.

"Here," Draco said, swinging about to face Harry. His forehead furrowed as he studied the dark-haired wizard, giving a slight shake of his head as he eyed the black cloak. Pawing through the pockets of his cloak, he withdrew the wand he was currently using and directed it at Harry. With a well-practiced flick of his wrist and a softly murmured word, he changed the black material to the colour of the snow they stood upon. Satisfied with the colouring, he turned the wand on himself. He returned the wand to his pocket and carefully dragged the silver-tipped bolt from its lining, offering it expectantly to Harry.

Harry reached out and took the dart from Draco's hand, staring at the blood stained wood in confusion. He lifted his eyes to meet the blond's patient gaze, his brows rising in question. "What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked, holding the dart up between two fingers.

"Smell it." Draco replied dryly, sweeping the area with cautious eyes. He tipped his head up and scanned the low hanging branches of the trees surrounding them, inhaling deeply as he did so. A frown twisted his features and he dropped his chin, meeting Harry's gaze. He sighed at the confusion in the glowing emeralds. "The hunter's scent is all over that, Harry, just give it a sniff so we can get this over with."

Slowly, Harry lifted the bolt to his nostrils and inhaled, his eyes closing as he filled his nose with the smell of Draco. It was the myriad smells beneath the blond's that interested the wolf. The smell of Andrej, each tiny particle of the other male's base scent. Blood, sweet as copper upon his tongue. There, beneath all that, lay what the wolf wanted. A stranger's scent. Tobacco, lemon, old smoke, firewhiskey, beef, and the overpowering reek of pine. The raven-haired male smiled a distinctly wolfish grin, and opened his eyes to meet Draco's feral gaze.

Draco dipped his head and turned away from the dark-haired male, lifting his face to the faint wind whining between the trees. "Let's begin," he murmured, beginning a silent glide further into the forest.

Harry followed the blond's lead, tipping his head up and inhaling deeply, dragging the smell of the Glen into his lungs. His brow furrowed as he sifted through the various scents, searching carefully for what he was looking for. Slowly, he and Draco separated, weaving back and forth, crossing over each other's paths in the hunt for the hunter. Every now and then one of them would pause, listening to some sound in the distance, gauging whether or not it was significant. Andrej had obviously apparated in an attempt to lose the individual hunting him, which meant the original confrontation could have occurred anywhere within the Glen.

"Here," Draco whispered suddenly. He stood frozen among a stand of maple trees, his entire body held perfectly still. His nose twitched, his body humming with eagerness. Somewhere upwind of them, someone was inching their way through the Glen. Harry appeared at his side, his eyes widening as the scent of the stranger filled his nose.

Blinking emeralds glazed with lupine hunger, Harry glanced at Draco and gave a faint nod of his head. "Yes," he breathed, allowing the wolf a little more leash. Without a word or further conversation, the pair began a cautious prowl through the naked trees. A squirrel loudly berated something in the distance, its angry chorus taken up by several birds. As the scent of the hunter grew stronger, Harry and Draco began to separate, silently putting space between themselves. In their snow white cloaks, with the hoods pulled over their heads, they simply disappeared among the elms.

In his head, the wolf urged him on, ramping up its excitement. _Protect the pack_, the beast bayed. _Protect the pup. Protect the pack_.

Harry needed no further urging. With the scent of his prey high in his nose, he slipped over a log and down a shallow ravine, unconsciously tracking Draco's stealthy stalk with half an ear. He heard it then, the telling crunch of snow beneath boots. The whisper quiet tread slowed his own forward stalk. Tongue flicking out to wet dry lips, he slid a hand into the back of his trousers and withdrew the wand he'd tucked there earlier, fingers smoothing over the wood.

Movement among a tall stand of pine trees caught his attention, drawing his gaze to the figure slipping silently through the shadows. It took the merest twitch of Harry's nose to bring the wolf howling to the fore. Tobacco, lemon, firewhiskey, and stale smoke. They'd located their prey, but he was armed. The man stepped out of the shadows and paused, his narrowed eyes scanning the brush cautiously. In his hands was a crossbow, a silver-tipped bolt sitting at the ready.

Harry's mouth went dry and he dropped to a crouch, the white cloak allowing him to vanish against the snow-covered ground of the forest floor. In his peripheral vision, he saw the faintest disturbance among the trees, the movement dragging his gaze to the thicker brush on the far side of the hunter. He didn't need to see Draco to know that he was there, situated directly across from Harry in the snow. Taking a slow even breath, Harry returned his attention to the hunter, watching the man carefully pick a winding path among the trees. He tightened his grip on the wand he held as the hunter drew closer to his position, his body tensing as even the wolf went silent.

Just when the hunter was nearing his position, he unexpectedly changed direction. Harry swallowed a gasp, muscles tensing as the hunter unknowingly walked straight toward Draco.

_Now_, the wolf demanded, snapping sharp fangs. It ran through the quickest ways to dispatch the hunter. Meticulously plotted every step, calculated the time and distance required to put them on top of the man. The only thing that made the beast nervous was Draco, the blond was a variable it couldn't account for.

Before he had chance to move, the hunter lifted the crossbow, leveling it in Draco's direction. The blond reacted before Harry could, lunging upward and slapping the weapon out of hunter's hands. Unfortunately, the crossbow wasn't the only weapon the man was wielding. Even as the bow was skittering across the snow, the hunter yanked a blade from his waist, swinging it wildly at Draco. The blond slid liquidly backward, snarling savagely in response to the threat.

"Another one?" The hunter spat, sneering at the blond. "Must be my lucky day."

Harry remained crouched in the snow, undecided as to how he should proceed. He followed the interplay between Draco and the hunter, his body tensing as the blond began to test the man's reactions, circling him slowly, forcing the man to turn with him. It was when the man's back was to him that Draco flicked silver eyes over his shoulder, the gleam in those orbs all the command he needed. Rising fluidly, he loped silently across the snow, closing the distance between himself and the hunter in seconds.

The man pulled his wand and angled it at Draco before Harry was on top of him. Unfortunately for the hunter, that merely made Harry's attack more vicious. His entire body slammed into the man's back, a wild growl spilling over his lips. The hunter was flung forward, his wand and knife flying from his hands and becoming lost in the snow. Without pause or thought, Harry snapped the man's neck.

Drawing in a deep breath, he sat crouched upon the hunter's body, looking at the hands he still had wrapped around the man's fragile neck. His eyes snapped closed and suddenly his mind was full of images he'd never seen before. A hallway full of screaming wizards; Ron's neck gripped tightly between his bloody fingers. With a shuddering gag, he wrenched his eyes open and scrambled off the man's body, taking several stumbling steps away from the dead hunter before vomiting.

He crouched in the snow and spat bile out of his mouth, his head hanging. He drew a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes closed. Everything the wolf had been hiding from him came rushing to the fore. Every bloody swipe of his fingers and snap of overly sharp teeth. He heard Draco moving about beside him and then felt a touch on his shoulder, cool fingers slid across his forehead, brushing the hair away from his face.

"It was him or us, Harry." The blond muttered, absently dragging his hand over the other male's dark hair. When green eyes opened and lifted to meet his, he offered a consoling smile and hefted Harry to his feet, brushing clinging snow from his robes. The smile clung to his lips as emerald orbs flashed with lupine knowledge, the sphere's sliding away from his own.

Draco was right, and Harry knew it. Turning away from the blond, he gazed down at the corpse, feeling nothing but a sense of satisfaction in knowing that the threat to the pack had been eliminated. There was no surge of triumph, no overwhelming sense of victory, just the comforting sensation of contentment. This man, this predator, had come into their territory with the intention of hunting them down and killing them. But, unfortunately for him, there would be no bounty to collect. In this world, the world of the werewolves, it was kill or be killed. Eat, or be eaten. It was a lesson Harry was learning very quickly. He gestured at the hunter's body but took a quick step back when it burst into flames. "Dammit, Draco." He snapped, covering his nose with the edge of his cloak.

Shrugging his shoulders, the blond slid his wand away and smiled. He walked around the body to stand downwind of the smoke curling into the late afternoon sky, a small smile of accomplishment curving his lips. Slowly, deliberately, he tipped his chin up and released a clear haunting wail. With the sound of their survival ringing in the air, Harry tipped his own face toward the sky and echoed the call.

* * *

A/n: Thank you for reading, as always.


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